MAKCUS  WARLANDj 

OR, 

T.HE  LONG  MOSS  SPEING; 

0f 

BY 

MRS.  CAROLINE  LEE  HENTZ. 

AUTHOR  OF  "COURTSHIP  AND  MARRIAGE,"  "PLANTER'S  NORTHERN  BRIDE," 
"LINDA,"  "EOLINB,"  "RENA,"  "LOVE  AFTER  MARRIAGE,"  ETC. 

Complete  in  one  large  volume,  bound  in  cloth,  price  One  Dollar  and  Twenty- 
five  cents,  or  in  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  for  One  Dollar. 

READ  WHAT  SOME  OF  THE  LEADING  EDITORS  SAY  OF  IT: 

"The  story  is  an  exceedingly  touching  one  of  American  domestic  life — 
a  story  of  wild  and  diseased  passions,  successfully  contrasted  with  purity 
and  gentleness  of  taste  and  aspect.  Mrs.  Hentz  is  one  of  our  most  dra 
matic  of  female  writers.  She  makes  a  story  as  felicitously  as  any  of  them 
— knows  the  secret  of  exciting  and  prolonging  the  interest,  and  of  bringing 
about  an  appropriate  denouement.  Her  characters  are  drawn  with  spirit 
and  freedom,  and  her  incidents  are  well  selected  for  their  illustration." — 
Southern  Patriot. 

"Every  succeeding  chapter  of  this  new  and  beautiful  nouvellette  of  Mrs. 
Hentz  increases  in  interest  and  pathos.  We  defy  any  one  to  read  aloud 
the  chapters  to  a  listening  auditory,  without  deep  emotion,  or  producing 
many  a  pearly  tribute  to  its  truthfulness,  pathos,  and  power." — Am.  Courier. 

"It  is  pleasant  to  meet  now  and  then  with  a  tale  like  this,  which  seems 
rather  like  a  narrative  of  real  events  than  a  creature  of  the  imagination." 
— N.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser. 

MRS.  CAROLINE  LEE  HENTZ'S  OTHER  WORKS. 

T.  B.  Peterson  having  purchased  the  stereotype  plates  of  all  the  writings 
of  Mrs.  Hentz,  he  has  just  published  a  new,  uniform  and  beautiful  edi 
tion  of  all  her  works,  printed  on  a  much  finer  and  better  paper,  and  in  far 
Buperior  and  better  style  to  what  they  have  ever  before  been  issued  in,  (all 
in  uniform  style  with  Marcus  Warland,)  copies  of  any  one  or  all  of  which  will 
be  sent  to  any  place  in  the  United  States,  free  of  postage,  on  receipt  of 
remittances.  Each  book  contains  a  beautiful  illustration  of  one  of  the  best 
scenes.  The  following  are  the  names  of  these  world-wide  celebrated  works : 

(iii) 


iy  MRS.   IIENTZS  WORKS. 

LINDA ;  or,  THE  TOTING  PILOT  OF  THE  BELLE 
CREOLE.  Complete  in  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  price 
One  Dol.,  or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth  gilt,  $1.25. 

"We  hail  with  pleasure  this  contribution  to  the  literature  of  the  South. 
Works  containing  faithful  delineations  of  Southern  life,  society,  and 
scenery,  whether  in  the  garb  of  romance  or  in  the  soberer  attire  of  simple 
narrative,  cannot  fail  to  have  a  salutary  influence  in  correcting  the  false 
impressions  which  prevail  in  regard  to  our  people  and  institutions  ;  and 
our  thanks  are  duo  to  Mrs.  llentz  for  the  addition  she  has  made  to  this  de 
partment  of  our  native  literature.  We  cannot  close  without  expressing  a 
hope  that  'Linda'  may  be  followed  by  many  other  works  of  the  same  class 
from  the  pen  of  its  gifted  author." — Southern  Literary  Gazette. 

"Remarkable  for  the  deep  interest  of  the  plot  and  touching  beauty  of  its 
well-told  incidents;  some  of  our  newspaper  editors,  indeed,  pronounce  it 
'the  beat  story  ever  published.'  This  is  certainly  high  praise,  and  from  our 
knowledge  of  Mrs.  Lee  Hentz's  ability,  as  an  accomplished  writer,  we  have 
no  doubt  the  praise  is  well  merited." — American  Courier. 

ROBERT  GRAHAM.  The  Sequel  to,  and  continuation 
of  Linda.  Complete  in  two  large  volumes,  paper  cover, 
price  One  Dol.,  or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth  gilt,  $1.25. 

"We  cannot  admire  too  much,  nor  thank  Mrs.  llentz  too  sincerely  for 
the  high  and  ennobling  morality  and  Christian  grace,  which  not  only  per 
vade  her  entire  writings,  but  which  shine  forth  with  undimmed  beauty  in 
the  new  novel,  Robert  Graham.  It  sustains  the  character  which  is  very 
difficult  to  well  delineate  in  a  work  of  fiction — arelii/ious  missionary.  All 
who  read  the  work  will  bear  testimony  to  the  entire  success  of  Mrs.  Hentz." 
— Boston  Transcript. 

"A  charming  novel ;  and  in  point  of  plot,  style,  and  all  the  other  char 
acteristics  of  a  readable  romance,  it  will  compare  favorably  with  almost 
any  of  the  many  publications  of  the  season."— Literary  Gazette. 

RENA  ;  or,  THE  SNOW  BIRD.  A  Tale  of  Real  Life. 
Complete  in  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  price  One  Dol.,  or 
bound  in  one  volume,  cloth  gilt,  $1.25. 

"'Rena;  or,  the  Snow  Bird'  elicits  a  thrill  of  deep  and  exquisite  pleasure, 
even  exceeding  that  which  accompanied  'Linda,'  which  was  generally  ad 
mitted  to  bo  the  best  story  ever  written  for  a  newspaper.  That  was  certainly 
high  praise,  but  'Rena'  takes  precedence  even  of  its  predecessor,  and,  in 
both,  Mrs.  Lee  Hontz  has  achieved  a  triumph  of  no  ordinary  kind.  It  is  not 
that  old  associations  bias  our  judgment,  for  though  from  the  appearance, 
years  since,  of  the  famous  'Mob  Cap'  in  this  paper,  we  formed  an  exalted 
opinion  of  the  womanly  and  literary  excellence  of  the  writer,  our  feelings 
have,  in  the  interim,  had  quite  sufficient  leisure  to  cool;  yet,  after  the 
lapse  of  years,  we  have  continued  to  maintain  the  same  literary  devotion 
to  this  best  of  our  female  writers.  The  two  last  productions  of  Mrs.  Lee 
llentz  now  fully  confirm  our  previously  formed  opinion,  and  wo  unhesi 
tatingly  commend  'Rena,'  now  published  in  book  form,  in  beautiful  style, 
by  T.  B.  Peterson,  as  a  story  which,  in  its  varied,  deep,  and  thrilling  in 
terest,  has  no  superior." — American  Courier. 


MRS.  HENTZ'S  WORKS.  V 

THE  PLANTER'S  NORTHERN  BRIDE.  With  illus 
trations.  Complete  in  two  large  volumes,  paper  cover, 
600  pages,  price  One  Dollar,  or  bound  in  one  volume, 
cloth  gilt,  $1.25. 

"Wo  hare  seldom  been  more  charmed  by  the  perusal  of  a  novel;  and  wo 
desire  to  commend  it  to  our  readers  in  the  strongest  words  of  praise  that 
our  vocabulary  affords.  The  incidents  are  well  varied;  the  scenes  beauti 
fully  described;  and  the  interest  admirably  kept  up.  But  the  moral  of  tho 
book  is  its  highest  merit.  The  'Planter's  Northern  Bride'  should  be  as 
welcome  as  the  dove  of  peace  to  every  fireside  in  the  Union.  It  cannot  be 
read  without  a  moistening  of  the  eyes,  a  softening  of  the  heart,  and  a  miti 
gation  of  sectional  and  most  unchristian  prejudices." — N.  Y.  Mirror. 

"It  is  unquestionably  the  most  powerful  and  important,  if  not  the  most 
charming  work  that  has  yet  flowed  from  her  elegant  pen  ;  and  though  evi 
dently  founded  upon  the  all-absorbing  subjects  of  slavery  and  abolitionism, 
the  genius  and  skill  of  the  fair  author  have  developed  now  views  of  golden 
argument,  and  flung  around  the  whole  such  a  halo  of  pathos,  interest,  and 
beauty,  as  to  render  it  every  way  worthy  the  author  of  'Linda/  'Marcus 
Warland,'  'Rena,'  and  the  numerous  other  literary  gems  from  the  same 
author." — American  Courier. 

"The  most  delightful  and  remarkable  book  of  the  day." — Boston  Traveler. 

"Written  with  remarkable  vigor,  and  contains  many  passages  of  real 
eloquence.  We  heartily  commend  it  to  general  perusal." — Newark  Eagle. 

COURTSHIP  AND  MARRIAGE;  or,  THE  JOYS 
AND  SORROWS  OF  AMERICAN  LIFE.  With  a 
Portrait  of  the  Author.  Complete  in  two  Urge  volumes, 
paper  cover,  price  One  Dollar,  or  bound  in  one  volume, 
cloth  gilt,  $1.25. 

"This  work  will  be  found,  on  perusal  by  all,  to  be  one  of  the  most  exciting, 
interesting,  and  popular  works  that  has  ever  emanated  from  the  American 
Press.  It  is  written  in  a  charming  style,  and  will  elicit  through  all  a 
thrill  of  deep  and  exquisite  pleasure.  It  is  a  work  which  the  oldest  and 
the  youngest  may  alike  read  with  profit.  It  abounds  with  the  most  beauti 
ful  scenic  descriptions ;  and  displays  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  all 
phases  of  human  character;  all  the  characters  being  exceedingly  well 
drawn.  It  is  a  delightful  book,  full  of  incidents,  oftentimes  bold  and 
startling,  and  describes  the  warm  feelings  of  the  Southerner  in  glowing 
colors.  Indeed,  all  Mrs.  Hentz's  stories  aptly  describe  Southern  life,  and 
are  highly  moral  in  their  application.  In  this  field  Mrs.  Hentz  wields  a 
keen  sickle,  and  harvests  a  rich  and  abundant  crop.  It  will  be  found  iu 
plot,  incident,  and  management,  to  be  a  superior  work.  In  the  whole 
range  of  elegant  moral  fiction,  there  cannot  be  found  any  thing  of  more 
inestimable  value,  or  superior  to  this  work,  and  it  is  a  gem  that  will  well 
repay  a  careful  perusal.  The  Publisher  feels  assured  that  it  will  give 
entire  satisfaction  to  all  readers,  encourage  good  taste  and  good  morals, 
and  while  away  many  leisure  hours  with  great  pleasure  and  profit,  and  be 
recommended  to  others  by  all  that  peruse  it." 


Vi  MRS.  HENTZ'S  WORKS. 

THE  BANISHED  SON";  and  other  Stories.  Complete 
in  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  price  One  Dol.,  or  bound  in 
one  volume,  cloth  gilt,  $1.25. 

"  Tho  'Banished  Son'  seems  to  us  the  chef  d'ceuvre  of  the  collection.  It 
appeals  to  all  the  nobler  sentiments  of  humanity,  is  full  of  action  and 
healthy  excitement,  and  sets  forth  the  best  of  morals." — Charleston  Weekly 
Ifeioe, 

AUNT  PATTY'S  SCRAP  BAG,  together  with  large  ad 
ditions  to  it,  written  by  Mrs-.  Hentz,  prior  to  her  death, 
and  never  before  published  in  any  former  edition  of  this 
work.  Complete  in  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  price  One 
Dol.,  or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth  gilt,  $1.25. 

"We  venture  to  assert  that  there  is  not  one  reader  who  has  not  been 
made  wiser  and  better  by  its  perusal — who  has  not  been  enabled  to  treasure 
up  golden  precepts  of  morality,  virtue,  and  experience,  as  guiding  princi 
ples  of  their  own  commerce  with  the  world." — American  Courier. 

LOVE  AFTER  MARRIAGE ;  and  other  Stories.  Com 
plete  in  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  price  One  Dol.,  or  bound 
in  one  volume,  cloth  gilt,  $1.25. 

"  This  is  a  charming  and  instructive  story — one  of  those  beautiful  efforts 
that  enchant  the  mind,  refreshing  and  strengthening  it." — City  Item. 
"  The  work  before  us  is  a  charming  one." — Boston  Evening  Journal. 

HELEN  AND  ARTHUR.  Complete  in  two  volumes, 
paper  cover,  price  One  Dol.,  or  bound  in  one  volume, 
cloth  gilt,  $1.25. 

"A  story  of  domestic  life,  written  in  Mrs.  Hentz's  best  vein.  Tho  de 
tails  of  the  plot  are  skilfully  elaborated,  and  many  passages  are  deeply 
pathetic." — Commercial  Advertiser. 

EOLINE  ;  or,  MAGNOLIA  VALE.  Complete  in  two 
volumes,  paper  cover,  price  One  Dol.,  or  bound  in  one 
volume,  cloth  gilt,  $1.25. 

"We  do  not  think  that  amongst  American  authors,  there  is  one  more 
pleasing  or  more  instructive  than  Mrs.  Hentz.  This  novel  is  equal  to  any 
which  she  has  written." — Cincinnati  Gazette. 

"A.  charming  and  delightful  story,  and  will  add  to  the  well-merited  re 
putation  of  its  fair  and  gifted  author." — Southern  Literary  Gazette. 

j£33"*  Copies  of  either  edition  of  any  of  the  foregoing  works  will  be  sent 
to  any  person,  to  any  part  of  the  United  States,  free  of  postage,  on  their 
remitting  the  price  of  the  ones  they  may  wish,  to  the  publisher,  in  a  letter. 

Published  and  for  Sale  by  T.  B.  PETERSON, 

No.  102  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia. 


HAVE     I     PERMISSION    TO    DRINK    OP    THIS    SPRINO  7 


MARCUS   WARLAND; 


OK, 


THE  LONG  MOSS  SPRING. 


ft   Suilc  of  % 


«•••• 

/es 

wf 

HI 
# 

BY  MRS.  CAROLINE  IEE  pNT&  > 

AUTHOR  OF  "LINDA,"  "  RENA,"  "COURTSHIP  AND  MARRIAGE,"  «THB 
PLANTER'S  NORTHERN  BRIDE,"  "BANISHED  SON,"  ETC. 


"  There  beautiful  and  bright  he  stood — 

As  born  to  rule  the  storm ; 
A  creature  of  heroic  blood, 
A  proud,  though  child-like  form." — Hemans. 

"She  had  hair  as  deeply  black 

As  the  cloud  of  thunder; 
She  had  brows  so  beautiful 

And  dark  eyes  flashing  under. 
Bright  and  witty  Southern  girl! 

lieside  a  mountain's  water, 
I  found  her,  whom  a  king  himself 

Would  proudly  call  his  daughter." — Mary  Hauritt. 


J3  !j  1 1  a  ft  e  I  p  1)  i  a : 

T.  B.  PETERSON,  NO.  102  CHESTNUT  STREET. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1852,  by 

A.   HART, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  Of  the  United  States,  in  and  for  the 
Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


STEREOTYPED  BY  L.  JOHNSON  AND  CO. 

PHILADELPHIA.    .. 
PRINTED  BY  T.  K.  AND   P.  0.  COLLINS. 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  READER. 


IT  may  be  that  those  who  dwell  in  Northern  latitudes  may  "be 
lieve  that  we  have  thrown  too  fair  a  colouring  over  our  pictures  of 
Southern  life,  and  that  we  have  attempted  to  palliate  traits  in 
themselves  harsh  and  repulsive.  Being  a  native  of  the  North,  and 
a  dweller  of  the  South,  with  affections  strongly  clinging  to  both  of 
the  beautiful  divisions  of  our  common  country,  we  trust  that  we 
have  brought  to  the  task  an  unprejudiced  mind,  a  truthful  spirit, 
and  an  earnest  and  honest  purpose. 

It  has  been  our  destiny  to  be  something  of  a  wanderer,  and  to 
dwell  in  several  of  the  Southern  States,  and  we  can  say,  in  all 
truth  and  sincerity,  that  the  view  of  the  social  institutions  of  the 
South  presented  in  the  following  pages  is  what  we  ourselves  have 
witnessed;  and  as  no  one  will  accuse  us  of  having  set  down  aught 
in  malice,  so  we  can  assert  we  have  in  nothing  extenuated.  We 
believe,  if  the  domestic  manners  of  the  South  were  more  generally 
and  thoroughly  known  at  the  North,  the  prejudices  that  have 
been  gradually  building  up  a  wall  of  separation  between  these 
two  divisions  of  our  land  would  yield  to  the  irresistible  foice 
of  conviction. 

The  description  of  Mr.  Bellamy's  plantation  is  drawn  from  tho 
real,  not  the  ideal.  The  incident  recorded  of  Mrs.  Bellamy,  of  her 
endeavouring  to  rescue  the  mulatto  girl  from  the  flames  at  the  risk 
of  her  own  life,  occurred  during  the  last  winter  in  our  city.  The 
lady  who  really  performed  the  heroic  and  self-sacrificing  deed 
is  a  friend  of  our  own,  and  we  saw  her  when  her  scarred  and 

bandaged  hands  bore  witness  to  her  humanity  and  sufferings. 

7 


8  ADDRESS   TO  THE  READER. 

The  chivalry  of  the  sable  pilot,  and  the  disinterestedness  and 
heroism  of  the  lady  -whom  he  rescued,  were  exhibited,  about  a 
year  since,  on  the  waters  of  the  Chattahoochee. 

We  have  seen  devotion  and  fidelity  equal  to  Aunt  Milly's,  and 
the  magnanimity  of  Hannibal  has  many  a  prototype  among  the 
dark  sons  of  Africa. 

Under  circumstances  of  peculiar  interest  has  this  work  been 
written.  The  perusal  of  its  chapters,  as  they  have  been  completed 
day  after  day,  has  beguiled  the  weary  and  painful  hours  of  an 
invalid  husband,  whose  suggestive  mind  has  corresponded  to  the 
movements  of  our  own:  and  when  we  have  seen  disease  thus 
robbed  of  its  sting,  and  confinement  of  its  depressing  influence, 
we  have  hoped  the  work  might  find  its  way  to  the  couch  of  some 
other  sufferer,  and  occasion  even  a  temporary  oblivion  of  anguish. 

We  have  also  had  the  privilege  of  reading  the  manuscript  to 
some  intelligent  and  literary  friends ;  and  when  we  recall  the  in 
terest  they  have  manifested  in  its  pages,  and  the  frank  and  hearty 
encouragement  they  have  given  us  during  its  progress,  we  feel 
emboldened  to  hope,  that  the  public  will  judge  us  as  kindly,  and 
do  equal  justice  to  the  motives  that  actuated  us. 

CAROLINE  LEE  HENTZ. 
Columbus,  Georgia. 


MARCUS   WARLAND. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  There  beautiful  and  bright  he  stood — 

As  born  to  rule  the  storm; 
A  creature  of  heroic  blood, 
A  proud,  though  child-like  form." 

HEMANS. 

"HARK  I"  exclaimed  Mr.  Warland,  rising  from  his  chair  and 
walking  with  an  unsteady  step  to  the  door,  which  he  opened 
with  a  shaking  hand.  "  Hark !  there  is  some  one  shouting  from 
the  opposite  bank  of  the  river.  Light  the  lantern,  Marcus. 
Quick,  I  say.  What  are  you  standing  in  that  blast  for  ?  Give 
it  to  me,  and  not  keep  me  waiting  here  all  night." 

Snatching  the  lantern  from  the  hands  of  his  son,  he  seized 
the  tongs  and  tried  to  bring  the  glaring  coal  in  contact  with 
the  wick;  but  though  he  blew  his  hot  breath  in  strong  gusts 
upon  it,  and  produced  a  bright  flame,  his  wavering  hand  was 
unable  to  carry  it  through  the  open  door  of  the  lantern.  Set 
ting  down  the  tongs,  or  rather  throwing  them  on  the  hearth, 
he  swung  the  lantern  back  into  the  hands  of  his  son,  who  im 
mediately  lighted  it,  closed  the  door,  and  took  down  his  cap 
from  the  wall. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  your  cap,  sir  ?"  asked  Mr. 
Warland. 

"  G-oing  with  you,  sir,"  firmly,  but  respectfully,  answered 
the  boy. 


10  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

"  And  what  good  are  you  going  to  do  me,  I  want  to  know  ? 
The  night  is  as  dark  as  pitch,  and  the  wind  howling  like  a  pack 
of  wolves." 

"  That's  the  reason  I  want  to  go  with  you,  sir.  It  is  not 
the  first  time  I  have  been  out  with  you  when  it  is  dark  as  it  is 
now?" 

"  True,  true,"  said  the  father,  rubbing  his  forehead  with  his 
hands,  "but  if  Katy  wakes  she  will  be  frightened  at  finding 
herself  alone." 

"  She  never  wakes,  father ;  and  if  she  does,  Aunt  Milly  will 
hear  her  from  the  kitchen,  and  come  to  her  directly." 

"Poor  thing,"  cried  the  father,  in  a  softer  tone,  looking  down 
upon  a  pale-cheeked,  dark-haired  little  girl  of  about  eight  years 
old,  fast  asleep  in  a  low  cot-bed,  in  the  back  part  of  the  room. 
"  Poor  thing !"  repeated  he,  stooping  over  and  kissing  her, 
"  what  has  she  ever  done  that  she  should  be  cursed  too  ?" 

"  Father  !  they  are  shouting  again,  louder  than  ever,"  said 
the  boy.  "  Hadn't  we  better  start  ?" 

"  Yes — wait  one  moment."  He  opened  the  door  of  a  small 
cupboard  in  the  darkest  corner  of  the  apartment,  and  taking 
out  a  black  bottle,  began  to  pour  a  light-coloured  fluid  in  a 
glass.  He  was  just  putting  it  to  his  lips,  when  Marcus  stepped 
quickly  up,  and  laying  his  hand  on  his  arm,  exclaimed — 

"  No,  father,  you  must  not  drink  that  now.     You  cannot 
ferry  the  boat  steadily  if  you  do,  and  the  wind  is  so  strong." 
. .*'  Let  me  alone,  boy.     What  right  have  you  to  prevent  me  ? 
Let  me  alone,  I  say." 

!   "  Please,  father.     It's  wrong.     You  don't  know  what  you 
are  doing.     You  just  now  said  she  was  cursed — you  know  you 

did — and  yet  you  are  going Nay,  father,  you  shall  not 

drink  that  before  you  start." 

The  resolute  boy  snatched  the  glass  from  his  father's  hand, 
and  dashed  the  contents  in  the  fire.  A  sudden  illuminating 
blaze  flashed  through  the  room,  as  suddenly  producing  a  pale- 
blue  flame,  curling  slenderly  upward.  Then  darting  through 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  11 

the  door,  he  waved  his  lantern  in  the  air,  and  gave  the  pecu 
liar  halloo  of  the  boatman  to  indicate  to  the  waiting  traveller 
that  the  ferry  was  about  to  cross  the  river.  Mr.  Warland, 
who  would  have  wrestled  with  a  man  who  endeavoured  by 
mild  means  to  deprive  him  of  the  burning  beverage,  by  which 
he  sought  to  stimulate  his  dulled  and  exhausted  spirits,  yielded 
to  the  bold  will  of  a  boy  of  ten,  without  daring  to  resist,  and 
followed  him,  muttering,  not  loudly  but  deeply,  out  of  the 
cabin.  Marcus  hoisted  the  lantern  on  a  slight  post  that  was 
elevated  at  the  end  of  the  boat,  but  so  as  not  to  interfere  with 
the  entrance  of  carriages,  and  seizing  one  pole,  gave  the  other 
without  speaking  into  his  father's  hand.  The  river  had  a 
strong,  rapid  current,  so  that  they  were  obliged  to  go  up  the 
stream  some  distance  before  they  were  able  to  cross  it.  The 
lantern  threw  a  red  wake  on  the  dark  water,  over  which  the 
boat  glided  heavily  and  sullenly,  though  now  Mr.  Warland 
emulated  the  vigorous  strokes  of  the  pole  which  was  swayed 
by  the  youthful  arm  of  his  son.  He  did  not  speak,  for  he 
was  angry  and  ashamed,  yet  with  his  anger  and  shame  an 
exulting  pride  in  his  son  was  mingled.  He  was  proud  of  the 
boy,  who  dared  to  control  his  brutal  appetite,  and  save  him 
momentarily  from  a  yet  deeper  degradation.  As  he  looked 
upon  his  slight  figure  thrown  back,  standing  out  in  the  glare 
of  the  lantern,  while  he  pressed  the  pole  with  all  his  strength 
against  the  rushing  water,  and  thought  what  he  might  have 
made  of  him,  and  what  his  probable  destiny  now  was,  he  could 
•  not  suppress  a  groan  of  remorse. 

"  You  are  tired,  father,"  said  Marcus.  "  But  never  mind/* 
he  added,  in  an  encouraging  tone,  "  we  shall  soon  be  over,  and 
we  don't  have  to  tug  as  hard  coming  back." 

One  would  have  supposed  that  Tie  was  the  elder  and  stronger 
of  the  two,  to  hear  his  inspiring  tone. 

"  This  is  a  sorry  life  we  lead,"  said  the  father,  speaking  for 
the  first  time  since  the  rebellious  act  of  Marcus.  "  Obliged  to 
be  called  out  like  a  dog,  in  the  darkest  night  and  the  roughest 


12  MAECUS  WARLAND;  on, 

winds,  for  anybody  and  everybody.  I  don't  mind  it  in  tho 
daytime;  but  when  the  heavens  scowl  as  black  as  they  do  now, 
and  the  water  looks  like  ink  beneath  us,  I  feel  as  if  I  were  on 
the  gloomy  Styx,  on  my  way  to  the  infernal  regions." 

"  I  like  it  better  in  the  night,  father.  It  is  so  much  more 
exciting.  I  don't  care  how  dark  it  is;  we  can  turn  the  boat 
into  a  comet,  and  send  out  a  long,  red  streamer,  that  looks 
grandly  enough  behind  us.  As  for  the  wind,  the  stronger  the 
better.  I  love  to  hear  the  river  roar  after  us.  It  sounds  like 
music  to  me.  Hoorah  !  father,  here  we  are,  and  here  is  a  car 
riage  waiting  for  us,  sure  enough." 

The  rough,  grinding  sound  of  the  boat  upon  the  gravelly 
bank,  and  a  sudden  jerk  which  almost  threw  Mr.  Warland  from 
his  feet,  but  which  Marcus  stood  without  a  vibration,  gave 
notice  to  the  occupants  of  the  carriage  that  the  ferry  was  ready 
for  them  to  cross.  The  horses  came  slowly,  and  tightly  reined, 
down  the  steep  bank,  and  stepped  with  thundering  hoofs  on 
the  wet  planks  of  the  boat,  which  pushed  off  the  moment 
the  wheels  rolled  from  the  sand.  A  gentleman  and  lady 
were  in  the  carriage,  and  the  lady  leaned  on  the  shoulder 
of  the  gentleman,  as  if  feeble  and  weary.  She  was  wrapped  up 
daintily  in  rich  shawls,  and  blankets  were  placed  in  the  bottom 
of  the  carriage  to  cover  her  feet.  There  was  a  young  black 
girl  too  on  the  front  seat,  but  her  dark  outline  was  scarcely 
distinguishable  amid  the  dark  shadows  of  night.  When  the 
boat  was  about  halfway  over  the  river,  the  horses  began  to  be 
restless  and  step  backward  and  forward,  much  to  the  alarm 
of  the  lady.  Lifting  her  languid  head  from  her  husband's 
shoulder,  she  insisted  upon  getting  out  of  the  carriage. 

"  There  is  no  danger,  Isabel,"  said  her  husband.  "  Keep 
quiet,  and  do  not  expose  yourself  to  taking  cold,  by  this  need- 
lees  alarm."  But  even  while  he  was  speaking  the  horses 
went  back  still  farther,  though  the  driver  stood  at  their  head, 
with  a  controlling  arm.  Forgetting  her  fatigue  and  debility, 
the  lady  jumped  out,  while  her  husband,  finding  it  in  vain  to 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  13 

reason  with  her,  followed,  and  taking  one  of  the  blankets, 
threw  it  on  the  bottom  of  the  boat  for  her  to  stand  on,  and 
gathered  her  shawls  round  her,  which  the  strong  winds  were 
filling  like  the  sails  of  a  ship. 

"  Look,  husband,"  she  whispered,  "  look  at  that  boy — what 
a  beautiful  face  and  figure  he  has !"  Marcus  was  standing, 
with  his  right  hand  grasping  the  long  pole,  by  which  he  was 
propelling  the  boat,  while  with  his  left  he  pushed  back  the 
locks  that  were  blowing  over  his  temples.  The  blaze  of  the 
lantern  fell  full  upon  him,  and  lighted  him  up  with  a  pale 
glory,  while  the  thick  shadows  all  settled  behind  him,  in  a 
kind  of  rich,  Rembrandt  background.  Though  he  had  been 
recklessly,  fearlessly  exposed  to  the  sun  and  wind,  regardless 
of  their  bronzing  influence,  his  cheek  and  brow  were  as  fair  as 
a  girl's;  and  his  fair  hair  too,  long  and  curling,  floated  back 
from  his  forehead,  with  a  wild  grace  and  glossiness,  as  if  it 
were  born  to  sport  with  the  river-breeze  that  so  often  wantoned 
with  its  profusion.  His  eyes  were  of  a  clear,  deep,  cerulean 
blue,  with  very  dark  lashes,  and  his  finely-formed  eyebrows 
were  also  of  a  much  darker  hue  than  his  hair.  His  mouth, 
beautiful  as  the  Apollo  Belvidere's,  had  also  the  slightly 
scornful  expression  that  curls  the  parted  lip  of  the  young 
divinity.  He  certainly  was  a  very  remarkable-looking  boy  for 
a  ferryman's  son,  and  the  lady  forgot  her  alarm  while  gazing 
upon  him,  and  the  gentleman  his  fears  for  the  lady.  He  was 
struck  with  the  mind,  the  spirit  that  breathed  from  that 
boyish  face — she  with  the  striking  beauty  of  its  lineaments — 
loth  with  the  contrast  he  presented  to  the  rude  occupation  in 
which  he  was  engaged.  The  boy  caught  their  earnest  gaze, 
and  turning  with  a  quick,  deep  blush,  he  again  bent  over  the 
pole,  which  began  to  dip  in  a  deeper,  stronger  current. 
When  they  reached  the  opposite  bank,  the  lady  and  gentle 
man  held  a  low  conversation,  and  then  the  gentleman,  turning 
courteously  to  Mr.  Warland,  asked  him  if  he  knew  of  any 
house  of  entertainment  near,  where  they  could  pass  the  night, 


14  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

as  Mrs.  Bellamy  was  very  much  fatigued,  and  unwilling  to 
travel  farther  in  the  darkness. 

"  There  is  no  house  of  entertainment  at  all,"  answered  Mr. 
War-land,  "within  several  miles  of  here,  and  no  house  within 
a  mile.  The  roads  are  very  bad,  and  there  is  a  very  steep 
hill  to  go  up  before  you  reach  it." 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?"  exclaimed  the  lady,  looking  anxiously 
at  the  log  cabin  before  them ;  "  I  cannot,  I  dare  not  travel 
farther  to-night.  Cannot  this  good  man  give  us  a  bed  ?" 

"  I  am  very,  sorry,  madam,"  replied  Mr.  Warland,  with 
much  more  politeness  of  manner  than  they  expected  from  a 
ferryman,  "  I  cannot  offer  you  any  suitable  accommodations. 
My  cabin  is  too  rough  and  ill-furnished  to  ask  you  to  sit  down 
in,  much  less  to  sleep  in." 

"I  don't  care  for  accommodations,"  she  cried,  earnestly. 
"  No  matter  how  rough  the  bed,  how  coarse  the  fare,  I  will 
not  complain ;  but  I  cannot  ride  with  these  wild  horses  any 
farther  this  dark  night." 

"  The  horses  are  not  wild,  Isabel,"  said  her  husband,  with 
a  smile.  "  They  are  very  safe  and  manageable ;  but  I  know 
you  are  a  coward,  and  cannot  help  it.  If  this  gentleman  is 
willing  to  take  us  in  for  the  night,  I  shall  certainly  be  under 
obligations  to  him,  for  your  sake." 

"  If  I  had  a  bed,"  stammered  Mr.  Warland,  ashamed  and 
vexed  at  his  poverty,  well  knowing  that  it  was  the  curse  he 
had  drawn  upon  himself,  and  that  he  too  once  eat  the  bread 
of  affluence. 

"Let  us  give  them  CM/- bed,  father,"  said  Marcus  in  a  low  voice, 
approaching  close  to  his  father ;  "  we  can  sleep  upon  the  floor." 

"I  am  sorry  to  put  you  to  inconvenience,  my  fine  boy," 
cried  Mr.  Bellamy;  "but  I  thank  you  very  much  for  your 
obliging  offer.  I  know  Mrs.  Bellamy  will  not  refuse  it." 

Marcus  did  not  like  to  be  called  a  "fine  boy"  by  the  rich 
rium  whom  he  was  about  to  accommodate.  It  sounded  too 
patronising.  He  did  not  mean  that  he  should  hear  the  offer. 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  15 

He  wanted  his  father  to  have  the  credit  of  it,  if  there  was 
any  credit  in  it,  of  which  he  was  not  at  all  convinced.  He 
knew  what  was  due  to  the  stranger  within  one's  gate,  as  well 
as  the  children  of  the  wealthy;  and  there  was  something 
about  the  lady  so  sweet  and  winning,  her  slightest  request 
seemed  clothed  with  the  absoluteness  of  a  command.  He  led 
the  way  to  the  cabin,  holding  his  lantern  low  so  as  to  illumine 
the  ground  where  the  lady  stepped.  When  they  entered, 
there  was  certainly  nothing  very  inviting  in  the  aspect  of 
those  unlathed,  unplastered  walls,  and  poorly-furnished  room, 
to  the  eye  of  the  delicate  and  weary  traveller ;  but  it  was  a 
place  of  safety,  and  it  was  certainly  preferable  to  the  danger 
of  bad  roads,  fiery  horses,  and  a  night  of  inky  darkness.  The 
only  chairs  that  were  visible  were  wooden  frames,  with  un- 
tanned  leather  bottoms ;  and  a  low  bedstead,  covered  with  a 
blue  and  white  woollen  counterpane,  looked  hard  and  repul 
sive.  Still  there  was  an  air  of  neatness,  and  even  of  comfort. 
There  were  curtains  to  the  lower  part  of  the  windows,  which, 
though  made  of  white  domestic,  were  perfectly  neat,  and  the 
pillow-cases,  and  all  of  the  sheets  that  were  visible,  were  of 
snowy  purity.  Mrs.  Bellamy  sat  down  on  the  side  of  the 
bed,  while  the  black  girl  brought  in  her  blankets,  and  kneel 
ing  down,  spread  one  beneath  her  feet  on  the  uncarpeted  floor. 
Marcus  thought  the  lady's  feet  must  be  very  dainty  things, 
since  they  were  not  allowed  to  press  any  thing  harder  than 
wool;  and  he  thought,  too,  how  many  there  were  who  would 
be  thankful  to  have  those  soft,  nice  blankets  to  cover  them, 
and  shield  their  bodies  from  the  cold.  He  threw  some  pine- 
knots  on  the  dying  embers  of  the  hearth,  which  soon  kindling, 
a  flood  of  radiance  went  rolling  all  over  the  dark  walls,  con 
verting  them,  for  the  time,  into  an  illuminated  dome.  The 
beams  overhead,  being  unfloored,  the  eye  could  travel  upward 
to  the  apex  of  the  roof,  so  that  there  was  an  illusion  of  lofti 
ness  given  to  the  building,  low  and  confined  as  it  was.  Mr. 
Bellamy,  who  had  been  with  Mr.  Warland,  to  arrange  in 


16  MAP.CUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

some  way  for  the  accommodation  of  his  horses,  now  entered 
with  the  master  of  the  house,  and  drawing  a  chair  towards  the 
fire,  appeared  to  gladden  in  the  influence  of  the  cheering 
blaze.  He  was  a  fine,  benevolent-looking  man,  with  a  kind 
ness  and  heartiness  of  manner  which  even  Mr.  Warland  could 
not  resist.  He  seemed  so  well  satisfied  with  the  accommoda 
tions  offered,  so  sorry  for  the  trouble  they  were  giving,  it  was 
impossible  to  grudge  a  hospitality  so  gratefully  received,  and 
so  urgently  required. 

The  magnificent  fireworks  in  the  chimney  threw  every  ob 
ject  out  in  strong  relief,  and  even  suffused  with  a  glow  the 
fair,  pale  face  of  the  weary  lady,  who,  half  reclining  on  the 
bed,  supported  by  her  elbow,  suffered  her  eye  to  wander  over 
the  group  around  the  fire,  though  it  rested  with  increasing 
interest  on  the  remarkable-looking  boy,  who  stood  beside  her 
husband  with  the  air  of  a  young  aristocrat,  in  spite  of  his 
common  apparel.  She  looked  from  him  to  his  father,  on 
whose  brow  the  unmistakeable  seal  of  intemperance  was 
stamped,  that  mark  of  sin  and  shame,  which  grows  broader 
and  deeper,  till  the  image  of  God  is  utterly  defaced.  He 
might  once  have  been  a  handsome  man ;  for  his  forehead  was 
lofty,  and  his  features  symmetrical ;  but  his  eyes  had  a  pale, 
watery  lustre,  and  his  face  was. bloated  and  discoloured.  He 
was  now,  however,  perfectly  sober,  thauks  |6  the  bold  inter 
ference  of  his  dauntless  boy  before  they  lift  the  cabin ;  and 
as  he  sat  conversing  with  Mr.  Bellamy,  the  latter  was  asto 
nished  at  the  ease  and  refinement  of  his  language.  By  cer 
tain  classic  allusions,  he  soon  discovered  that  he  had  had  a  col 
legiate  education,  and  was  a  fine  belles-lettres  scholar;  and  he 
also  learned  that  he  had  known  some  of  the  most  distinguished 
men  of  the  day ;  and  yet  he  was  located  on  the  banks  of  that 
wild  stream,  in  an  obscure  log-cabin,  lonely  and  poor,  a  com 
mon  ferryman,  and  he  was  bringing  up  his  noble  boy  for  the 
same  inglorious  occupation.  These  things  troubled  the  bene 
volent  Mr.  Bellamy,  and  he  longed  to  fathom  their  mystery. 


THE  LONG  MOSS   SPRING.  17 

In  the  mean  time  another  figure  was  added  to  the  group,  and 
a  very  important  one  in  the  ferryman's  cabin.  It  was  Aunt 
Milly,  the  only  negro  that  remained  of  the  wreck  of  Mr.  War- 
land's  fallen  fortunes,  which  she  endeavoured  to  retrieve  in 
the  dignity  of  her  single  person.  She  had  a  great  deal  of 
family  pride,  and  notwithstanding  the  low  condition  to  which 
her  master  was  reduced,  she  remembered  his  former  station  in 
society,  and  in  the  presence  of  strangers  treated  him  with 
marked  deference  and  respect,  as  if,  by  clothing  him  in  her 
imagination  with  the  light  of  other  days,  she  could  cause  others 
to  forget  his  present  altered  and  degraded  situation.  She  had 
been  the  nurse  of  his  children,  and  for  two  or  three  years  had 
watched  over  their  desolate  and  orphan  childhood,  with  the 
tenderness  and  devotion  of  a  mother.  When  Mrs.  Warland 
was  on  her  deathbed,  where  a  broken  heart  had  laid  her,  she 
bound  her  husband,  then  awakened  to  a  remorseful  conscious 
ness  of  the  fatal  consequences  of  his  degeneracy,  by  a  solemn 
promise,  never  to  part  with  this  faithful  and  attached  creature. 

"All  the  rest  are  gone,"  said  the  dying  mother — "all 
sold,  scattered,  and  broken  up — Milly  alone  remains;  she 
loves  my  poor  children,  and  will  be  a  mother  to  them  when 
I  am  gone.  Promise  me,  as  you  hope  for  comfort  and  pardon 
in  your  last  moments,  never  to  give  up  this  their  last  friend, 
their  only  stay." 

Mr.  Warland,  in  an  agony  of  remorse,  promised  all  she 
required,  and  the  faithful  slave  declared  they  should  spill 
every  drop  of  her  heart's  blood,  sooner  than  separate  her 
from  the  children  she  loved  better  than  her  own  soul.  From 
that  moment  she  devoted  herself  to  their  interests  with  a 
fidelity  that  never  wavered,  and  an  affection  that  never  abated. 
There  was  no  sacrifice  too  great  for  their  comfort,  or  too  mighty 
for  her  love.  Let  us  not  be  accused  of  drawing  an  exagge 
rated  picture  of  the  sable  race.  "  We  speak  what  we  do  know 
— we  testify  to  that  which  we  have,  seen."  It  is  not  our  in 
tention  to  write  a  work  in  defence  of  the  peculiar  institution 
53 


18  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

of  the  South;  but  in  delineating  pictures  of  southern  life, 
where  the  negro  character  occupies  so  conspicuous  a  place, 
and  exercises  so  commanding  an  influence,  we  would  draw 
from  nature  alone ;  we  would  not  add  one  "  shade  the  more, 
one  ray  the  less/'  to  purchase  an  immortality  of  fame.  Truth 
alone  is  our  object,  and  truth  is  omnipotent,  and  must  and 
will  prevail.  We  do  not  enter  into  the  bold  design  of  going 
back  to  the  time  when  our  forefathers  forfeited  their  claim  to 
humanity,  and  purchased  human  blood.  Neither  do  we  dare 
sacrilegiously  to  question  the  wisdom  of  the  Creator,  nor  at 
tempt  to  fathom  the  mystery  of  His  design  in  dyeing  the 
negro's  face  with  the  hue  of  night,  and  giving  to  us  the  fairer 
tints  of  the  morning.  We  speak  of  the  children  of  those 
forefathers,  who  have  received  the  inheritance  as  a  part  of 
their  patrimony,  and  on  whom  the  evil  is  entailed  as  a  birth 
right.  Slavery  is  not  an  outer  garment,  that  can  be  thrown 
off  at  will,  when  it  becomes  oppressive  to  the  wearer;  it  is  a 
thread,  woven  into  the  woof  and  warp  of  the  web  of  their 
existence ;  and  the  stroke  that  separates  it  must  cut  the  heart 
strings  of  the  owner.  It  is  a  dark  thread ;  but  as  it  winds 
along,  it  gleams  with  bright  and  silvery  lustre,  and  some  of 
the  most  beautiful  lights  and  shades  of  the  texture  are  owing 
to  the  blending  of  these  sable  filaments.  We  hope  this  di 
gression  will  be  pardoned,  and  its  motive  be  understood.  In 
these  times  of  national  excitement,  when  the  stars  of  the 
Union,  that  have  so  long  moved  harmoniously  in  their  ap 
pointed  orbits,  obeying  the  great  laws  of  moral  gravita 
tion,  seem  ready  to  rush  from  their  spheres, — and  the  azure 
firmament  where  the  constellation  has  blazed,  torn  by  dissen 
sion  and  scorched  by  the  fires  of  passion,  threatened  to  be 
rolled  together  as  a  scroll, — it  becomes  one  and  all  to  cast  their 
mite  in  the  treasury  of  truth.  If  they  have  but  one  ray  of 
intellect,  let  it  be  sent  abroad  to  assist  in  dissipating  the 
clouds  of  error.  If  they  have  but  an  infant's  strength,  let  it 
be  exerted  to  sustain  the  endangered  interests  of  our  country's 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  19 

union.  Should  we  be  accused  of  throwing  too  strong  a  light 
on  our  subject,  let  others  bring  forward  the  shade.  We  again 
repeat,  we  will  produce  no  facts  connected  with  this  therne  for 
which  we  cannot  bring  proofs  "strong  as  Holy  Writ."  We 
hope  Aunt  Milly  will  forgive  us  for  leaving  her  standing  so 
long,  with  her  hands  folded  over  her  clean,  white  apron,  as 
on  a  comfortable  little  shelf,  curtsying  to  the  strange  lady 
with  respectful  lowliness.  A  handkerchief  of  mingled  orange 
and  red  was  twisted  round  her  retreating  forehead,  and  an 
other  of  the  same  blending  hues  was  folded  round  her  ebon 
neck.  She  had  evidently  prepared  herself  for  the  occasion,  and 
looked  as  if  she  were  conscious  of  bearing  on  her  shoulders  the 
tottering  honours  of  the  house  of  Warland.  It  must  be  ac 
knowledged  that  Aunt  Milly  had  one  fault,  that  grew  into  a 
kind  of  monomania.  In  her  desire  to  conceal  the  poverty  to 
which  her  master  was  reduced,  she  indulged  in.  a  spirit  of  ex 
aggeration,  which  increased  upon  her  unconsciously.  She 
actually  began  to  believe  herself  in  the  existence  of  those 
resources  which  her  imagination  supplied,  she  had  so  often 
had  recourse  to  them  in  the  day  of  trouble. 

Mrs.  Bellamy  felt  nearly  as  much  surprise  to  see  this  very 
respectable  and  stately-looking  negro  a  member  of  the  family, 
as  the  fair-haired  boy  she  admired  so  much,  and  acknowledged 
her  lowly  greeting  with  a  gentle  curtsy,  that  took  captive  at 
once  Aunt  Milly's  susceptible  heart.  The  black  girl,  who  was 
sitting  on  the  soft  blankets  at  her  mistress's  feet,  looked  up, 
with  a  bright  exhibition  of  smiling  ivory,  on  this  noble  mani 
festation  of  one  of  her  own  colour. 

"  What  would  mistress  like  for  her  supper  ?"  asked  Aunt 
Milly,  rolling  up  her  large  eyeballs,  as  if  endeavouring  to 
recollect  the  many  luxuries  with  which  she  could  supply  her. 
"  The  chickens  would  be  too  tough  killed  off  all  of  a  sudden 
so,  or  I  could  have  some  fried  in  batter,  and  there  wouldn't  be 
time  for  the  muffins  and  egg-cake  to  rise ;  but  e'enemost  any 
thing  else  in  the  world  that  mistress  would  like,  she  shall 


20  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

have,  for  the  wanting.     I  haven't  been  head-cook  in  master's 
family  these  twelve  years  for  nothing." 

An  arch  smile  fluttered  over  the  rosy  lips  of  Marcus  at 
Aunt  Milly's  grandiloquent  exhibition  of  hospitality,  know 
ing  what  a  poor  supper  she  really  would  be  obliged  to  prepare 
for  the  appetite  of  the  travellers. 

"  Thank  you/'  replied  Mrs.  Bellamy,  "  I  will  not  trouble 
you  for  any  thing  but  a  cup  of  tea ;  we  all  have  eaten  quite 
lately  in  the  carriage,  and  are  not  hungry  in  the  least. 
You  know  travellers  always  carry  their  luncheons  with 
them." 

"  Yes,  mistress  j  bless  your  soul,  yes,"  answered  Aunt 
Milly,  inexpressibly  relieved ;  "  when  my  poor  dear  mistress 
used  to  go  a  journeying,  I  allos  stuffed  the  carriage-pockets 
full  of  all  sorter  nice  goodies,  to  say  nothing  about  the  wine 
and  cordials,  and  them  kinder  fixings.  A  bit  of  cold  turkey 
and  a  slice  of  neat's  tongue  tastes  mighty  good  when  one's 
travelling ;  I  knows  all  about  it.  Well,  I'll  go  and  draw  a 
cup  of  gunpowder  tea,  and  serve  it  up  for  you,  mistress,  with 
loaf  sugar  and  cream." 

It  was  not  long  before  Aunt  Milly  reappeared  with  a  waiter, 
from  which  the  japan  had  partially  disappeared,  a  cup  of  com 
mon  white  crockery,  and  a  little  blue  bowl  with  brown  sugar, 
instead  of  the  white  crystal  she  had  promised  to  serve.  Going 
up  to  Mrs.  Bellamy  with  as  much  ceremony  as  if  she  were  in 
a  fashionable  drawing-room,  she  apologized  for  every  defi 
ciency  with  a  grace  and  readiness  that  left  no  room  for 
doubt. 

"  I'm  mighty  sorry,  mistress,  and  ashamed,  too,  to  offer 
you  this  sort  of  sugar  j  but  we've  just  this  minute  got  out  of 
the  white.  If  you'd  come  any  other  day  but  this — it's  really 
mortifying — and  this  common  crockery  aint  fit  for  quality* 
folks  to  use.  But  you  know,  mistress,  when  folks  move, 
chiny  and  porceling  breaks  up  so,  it  all  turns  to  rack  and 
ruin.  We  sold  it  all  out,  and  the  glass  and  silver  too ;  and 


THE  LONG   MOSS  SPRING.  21 

this  is  such  a  sorter  out-of-the-way  place,  and  one  see  so  little 
fine  company,  we  don't  mind  about  the  'ficiencies." 

"  Milly  has  mounted  her  hobby-horse,  I  see,"  said  Mr. 
Warland,  observing  Mr.  Bellamy  and  his  wife  exchange  a  be 
nevolent  smile  while  his  head-cook  was  expatiating  over  her 
cup  of  black  tea  and  brown  sugar;  "I  must,  however,  do  her 
the  justice  to  say,  that  whatever  may  be  her  present  position, 
she  once  was  familiar  with  the  luxuries  of  which  she  boasts." 

"La,  please,  master/'  said  Milly,  casting  a  cunning  look 
out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye,  "  I  never  boasts  of  myself,  but  I 
allos  was  proud  of  belonging  to  quality  folks,  and  not  to  the 
no-account  sort  of  people." 

"  Well ;  take  away  the  waiter ;  don't  you  see  the  lady  hag 
put  her  cup  back  ?" 

Mrs.  Bellamy  tried  to  sip  the  beverage,  so  kindly  prepared, 
but  her  utmost  efforts  only  enabled  her  to  get  down  a  few  swal 
lows.  Aunt  Milly  was  distressed  because  "  the  cat  had 
stolen  the  nice  cream,  that  would  have  made  it  so  good/'  and 
she  was  equally  distressed  "that  the  beautiful  Meosselles 
counterpane  was  in  the  wash,  and  that  the  lady  would  have 
to  sleep  under  that  rough  kivering." 

Mrs.  Bellamy  assured  her  on  that  point,  that  it  was  of  no 
consequence,  as  she  only  wished  to  recline  on  the  outside  of 
the  bed,  wrapped  in  her  shawls,  and  be  ready  for  a  very  early 
ride  in  the  morning. 

"  But  who  is  that  little  creature  in  the  other  bed  ?"  said 
she,  starting,  for  she  had  not  observed  before  that  it  had  an 
occupant.  Now  the  firelight  played  lambently  on  little 
Katy's  round,  but  colourless  cheeks  and  dark  hair,  which  lay 
loose  upon  the  pillow. 

"  La,  bless  your  heart,  mistress,  that's  little  Katy ;  it's  my 
own  blessed  child,  that  I  weaned  and  took  right  out  of  its 
mother's  arms.  And  so  I  did  young  master,  there;  and 
since  their  own  mother  died,  my  poor,  dear  mistress,  I  haint 
lived  for  any  thing  else  in  the  world  but  them  children,  and 


22  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

I  shall  live  for  them,  till  the  Lord  pleases  to  take  me  home  to 
my  blessed  husband,  that's  now  in  glory;  the  Lord  have 
mercy  on  his  soul/' 

Mrs.  Bellamy  was  so  much  interested  in  the  sleeping  child 
that  she  walked  across  the  room,  and  gazed  on  its  infantine 
features,  to  the  delight  of  the  affectionate  Milly. 

"  Oh !  mistress,"  continued  she,  in  the  abundance  of  her 
affection,  "  them  children's  mighty  near  to  me ;  if  they  were 
my  own  born  and  raised,  I  couldn't  think  more  of  'em.  When 
my  Heavenly  Master  saw  fit  to  take  away  my  poor  mistress 
from  evil  to  come,  she  make  me  promise  'fore  she  die,  never 
to  leave  or  'sake  her  little  ones ;  and  I  never  will,  as  long  as 
one  foot  can  trot  after  the  other.  No ;  as  long  as  poor  Milly 
has  a  mouthful  of  hoe-cake  as  big  as  a  barley-corn,"  added 
she,  forgetting  her  vain  boasting  in  the  pure  reality  of  her 
affection,  "  she'll  break  it  with  them  two  blessed  children." 

"Wiping  a  tear  from  her  eye  with  the  corner  of  her  white 
starched  apron,  she  stroked  back  the  child's  dishevelled  hair, 
and  smoothed  the  sheet  carefully  over  the  counterpane. 

"  They  are  both  beautiful  children,"  replied  Mrs.  Bellamy, 
looking  from  the  placid  face  of  the  sleeper  to  the  little  ferry 
man  near  the  fire.  "  How  long  is  it  since  their  mother  died  ?" 

"  Just  two  years  and  six  months  next  Sabbath  evening  at 
half-past  eleven  o'clock ;"  then  lowering  her  voice  so  that  her 
master  and  Mr.  Bellamy,  who  were  engaged  in  earnest  con 
versation,  could  not  hear  her,  "  that  was  an  awful  night,  it 
was ;  I  never  shall  forget  it  in  all  my  born  days.  I  thought 
master  would  have  gone  'stracted  sure  enough ;  he  went  rav 
ing  about  the  room,  and  bunting  his  head  'gin  every  thing 
that  come  in  his  way,  as  if  he  wanted  to  split  it  right  open ; 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  that  trouble,  he  never  'd  seen  this  sorter 
place.  We  couldn't  stay  there  no  more,  so  he  sold  every 
negro  he  had  but  me,  and  come  off  like  St.  Bartholomew  in 
the  wilderness,  to  live,  as  it  were,  on  the  locusses  and  wild 
honey." 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  23 

The  lady,  though  she  was  much  interested  in  the  history 
of  the  orphan  children,  and  touched  by  the  devotion  of  the 
faithful  slave,  felt  very  weary  and  anxious  to  resume  her  re 
clining  position.  The  coloured  girl  was  already  fast  asleep  j 
and  Marcus,  wrapping  himself  in  a  blanket  that  Aunt  Milly 
brought  from  the  kitchen,  soon  slept  as  soundly  as  if  lying  on 
a  bed  of  down.  Mrs.  Bellamy,  overcome  by  fatigue,  suffered 
her  head  to  fall  entirely  back  on  the  pillow,  whose  clean  sur 
face  she  did  not  shrink  from  pressing,  and  she  also  soon  lost 
all  consciousness  of  surrounding  objects.  Aunt  Milly  retired 
to  the  kitchen,  rejoicing  that  she  had  not  been  obliged  to 
commit  the  honour  of  the  family,  by  getting  a  supper,  which 
would  have  shamed  her  cookery  and  the  former  grandeur  of 
their  house.  All  slept  but  Mr.  Bellamy  and  his  host,  who 
sat  smoking  their  pipes  and  conversing  with  earnest  interest 
by  the  light-wood  blaze.  Let  it  not  be  a  matter  of  surprise 
that  a  gentleman  of  the  fine  appearance  and  elegant  accom 
paniments  of  Mr.  Bellamy  should  indulge  in  the  luxury  of  a 
pipe.  It  is  the  badge  of  the  southern  planter,  however  lofty 
his  rank,  or  abounding  his  wealth.  When  the  shades  of 
evening  gather  round  him,  and  he  draws  near  the  genial 
hearth,  he  applies  the  live  coal  to  the  cup  of  his  earthen  pipe, 
and  while  the  blue  smoke  curls  in  light  wreaths  abovo  his 
head,  filling  the  room  with  a  warm  and  fragrant  atmosphere, 
he  luxuriates  in  the  dolcefar  niente  of  existence.  Or  when  a 
warmer  season  sends  him  abroad  in  the  open  air,  he  seats  him 
self  in  the  pillared  piazza  that  surrounds  his  dwelling,  and 
looking  benevolently  and  placidly  at  the  winking  stars,  he 
watches  the  gossamer-like  vapour  float  among  the  tendrils  of 
the  vines  that  twine  the  column  which  supports  his  leaning 
chair.  In  the  north,  it  is  only  the  country  labourer  that  cul 
tivates  this  soothing  art,  and  the  farmer's  wife  who  possesses 
any  claim  to  gentle  breeding  would  blush  to  have  her  hus 
band  seen  with  this  calumet  of  peace  at  his  lips.  The  high 
bred  southerner,  like  the  calm,  luxurious  German,  loves  to  see 


24  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

the  cares  of  the  day  evaporate  with  the  incense  of  the  weed, 
whose  cultivation  is  a  source  of  his  wealth,  and  furnishes  em 
ployment  to  a  portion  of  his  slaves. 

"  I  am  astonished,"  said  Mr.  Bellamy,  continuing  the  con 
versation,  now  audible  in  the  stillness  of  the  apartment,  "  I 
am  astonished  that  a  man  of  your  natural  and  cultivated  powers 
of  mind  can  settle  down  in  this  ohscure  spot,  lost  to  mankind 
and  lost  to  himself.  Pardon  me  if  I  speak  too  plainly,  but  I 
cannot  help  it.  A  man  is  never  lost  while  conscious  of  his 
degenerate  condition.  If  not  for  your  own  sake,  for  the  sake 
of  your  children,  rouse  yourself  and  be  a  man  again.  Why,  this 
boy  of  yours  is  the  finest  child  I  ever  saw  in  my  life.  To  put 
him  in  a  ferry-boat,  and  throw  all  his  energies  into  that  long 
pole  he  grasps  with  such  a  princely  air,  when  by  education  he 
might  be  made  such  an  ornament  to  the  world,  is  a  crime  in 
the  sight  of  God  and  man." 

"Alas  !  what  else  can  I  do  with  him  now  ?  I  have  wasted 
the  property  that  might  have  been  his.  I  have  forfeited  the 
confidence  and  respect  of  society.  I  have  made  myself  a  by 
word  and  a  reproach  among  men.  I  came  here  that  I  might 
hide  myself  from  every  eye  that  knew  me  in  the  days  that 
were  mine,  before  the  tempter  found  this  burning  plague-spot 
in  my  heart,  and  blew  upon  it  with  his  breath  of  flame." 

"  You  have  but  to  make  a  solemn  resolution  never  to  taste 
another  drop  of  the  poison ; — to  do  as  thousands  have  done 
before  you,  and  been  saved,"  cried  Mr.  Bellamy,  rapping  the 
ashes  from  his  pipe  in  an  energetic  manner.  "  You  are  still 
in  the  prime  and  vigour  of  your  days.  You  can  resume  your 
station  in  society.  You  can  give  your  children  the  blessings 
of  civilized  and  social  life." 

"  Look  at  this  tremulous  hand,"  said  Mr.  "Warland,  holding 
up  the  half-palsied  member,  "  and  see  what  a  wreck  my  nerv 
ous  system  now  is.  I  might  have  reformed  years  ago,  but  i^w 
it  is  too  late.  Every  energy  of  body  and  mind  is  fast  wasting 
away  I  cannot  live  without  the  excitement  of  drink.  I  must 


THE   LONG  MOSS   SPRING.  25 

drink  to  appease  the  gnawing  of  remorse — to  drown  the  scor 
pions  of  avenging  conscience : — drink  to  forget  that  I  broke 
the  heart  of  my  wife,  beggared  my  children,  sold  and  scattered 
my  poor  slaves  : — drink  to  forget  that  I  have  sold  myself,  body 
and  soul,  to  the  arch-tempter  of  mankind." 

"  Well,  drink  as  much  as  you  please,  but  let  it  be  cold 
water — pure,  crystal  water  from  the  spring.  Promise  me,  if 
you  have  one  remnant  of  manhood  left,  that  you  will  not  taste 
another  drop  of  alcohol.  If  you  will,  I  will  do  something  for 
that  boy  of  yours.  If  I  had  such  a  son,  I  would  not  take  a 
million  ingots  of  gold  for  him.  He  must  be  educated.  How 
you  can  sit  down  and  give  yourself  up  to  perdition,  without 
one  spark  of  pride  for  your  children,  or  one  feeling  of  respect 
for  yourself,  is  astonishing — astounding — incomprehensible. 
By  heaven,  the  maniac,  chained  to  his  dungeon  walls,  is  a  sane 
man  to  you  !" 

"I  know  it — I  feel  it,"  cried  the  wretched  man,  "but  I've 
made  so  many  resolutions  and  broken  them  all,  I'm  afraid  to 
promise.  I  have  tried — God  knows  I  have — but  it  is  all  in 
vain.  You  think  I  don't  love  my  children.  I  would  throw 
myself  into  these  flames  this  moment  if  it  would  do  them  any 
good.  I  would  be  torn  into  atoms  by  wild  beasts  to  save  them 
one  pang.  And  yet" 

"  You  cannot  give  up  the  suicidal  habit  of  drinking,"  in 
terrupted  Mr.  Bellamy. 

"Alas  !  no — some  demon  stands  at  my  elbow  and  urges  me 
on,  though  I  know  that  every  step  brings  me  nearer  to  the 
burning  billows  of  hell." 

Here  he  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand,  and  wept  and  sobbed 
in  the  impotence  of  unavailing  remorse. 

"  God  help  you,  poor  man,  and  God  help  your  poor  child 
ren,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bellamy,  too  much  moved  to  remain  still 
in  his  chair,  and  rising,  he  walked  the  room  with  troubled  steps. 

His  heart  yearned  over  the  sleeping  children,  doomed  to  an 
orphanage  more  sad  than  that  created  by  death  itself.  It 


26  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

yearned  too  over  the  helpless  man,  who  seemed  wrapped  in  the 
tightening  coils  of  a  hydra,  whose  blood  is  gall,  and  whose 
breath  is  fire.  He  stopped  at  the  side  of  the  slumbering  boy, 
on  whose  placid  brow  a  heaven-born  smile  was  lingering,  as 
if  it  had  been  fanned  by  an  angel's  wing.  "  And  this  boy  must 
live  under  this  doom,"  cried  he,  bitterly.  "  Oh  !  miserable  in 
fatuation — unparalleled  madness  I" 

"  I  will  try  once  more,"  cried  the  weeping  inebriate.  "  I 
will  try  for  the  sake  of  that  boy  and  my  poor,  little,  motherless 
Katy.  I  thank  you  for  the  interest  you  have  taken  in  a  doomed 
wretch.  If  I  had  known  you  a  little  sooner,  I  might  perhaps 
have  been  saved.  But  friends  looked  coldly  on  me,  neigh 
bours  passed  by  me  on  the  other  side — even  my  wife  turned 
from  me  in  loathing.  Poor  soul,  she  could  not  help  it — no, 
ehe  could  not.  I  thought  I  was  lost,  and  plunged  deeper  and 
deeper,  trying  to  annihilate  myself.  But  there  is  something 
here  that  is  undying/'  cried  he,  smiting  his  breast  with  his 
hand.  "  There  is  a  fire  that  is  unquenchable.  The  word  of 
God  is  true.  Yea,  let  God  be  true,  though  every  man  be  a 
liar." 

"  I  shall  be  travelling  this  way  again  in  about  six  months," 
said  Mr.  Bellamy,  trying  to  speak  calmly.  "In  the  mean 
time,  abstain  from  the  poison  that  is  consuming  you,  and  if  I 
then  find  you  are  trying  to  help  yourself  and  family,  I  will  see 
what  I  can  do  for  you.  I  will  get  a  respectable  situation  for 
yourself,  and  assist  in  the  education  of  your  children.  But 
remember,  it  must  be  a  sober  man  that  I  place  in  a  responsible 
office.  I  cannot  compromise  my  own  reputation." 

Mr.  Warland  renewed  the  oft-repeated  and  oft-broken  pro 
mise  of  abstinence,  with  an  earnest  resolution  of  amendment ; 
and  Mr.  Bellamy,  gratified  at  obtaining  this  victory,  and  hop 
ing  he  would  have  strength  to  keep  his  word  inviolate,  lay 
down  on  the  couch,  and  fell  into  the  calm  slumbers  of  an  un 
troubled  bosom.  Mr.  Warland  could  not  sleep.  The  stings 
of  aa  awakened  conscience  and  the  terrible  gnawings  of  un- 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  27 

satisfied  appetite  would  not  let  him  rest.  Crouching  by  the 
hearth,  he  gazed  on  the  little  cupboard  which  contained  the 
fluid  that  had  turned  his  blood  to  fire,  and  for  which  he  was 
craving  with  insane,  irresistible  desire;  then  looking  on  the 
calm  sleepers,  he  said  to  himself, — he  might  taste,  and  they 
would  never  know.  His  bold  boy  would  not  dash  the  glass 
again  from  his  grasping  hand ;  his  new  friend's  admonishing 
voice  was  silent  now.  Stealing  darkly  towards  the  corner, 
he  opened  the  door,  and  laid  his  hand  upon  the  bottle. 

"  I  have  promised,"  he  said,  pausing  and  trembling,  "  the 
breath  is  not  yet  dry  upon  my  lips — I  have  promised  once 
again,  and  shall  I  break  my  oath  this  very  night — this  hour 
— this  moment  ?  Oh  !  merciful  Father !"  he  exclaimed,  sink 
ing  on  his  knees,  and  holding  up  his  trembling  arms  towards 
heaven,  "  Holy  Spirit,  whom  I  have  insulted  and  abjured, 
forsake  me  not  in  this  my  extremity.  Give  me  strength  to 
wrestle  with  my  indwelling  sin.  Take  away  the  curse  from 
me  and  my  children." 

Jacob  wrestled  with  the  angel  of  his  dream  till  the  break 
ing  day,  and  won  the  blessing  for  which  he  fought.  War- 
land  struggled  with  the  demon  of  temptation .  till  morning 
light,  and  at  last  prevailed.  How  many  more  conflicts  could 
he  endure,  and  live  ? 

Before  the  rising  of  the  sun,  all  was  life  and  bustle  in 
the  cabin.  The  travellers  were  anxious  to  commence  their 
journey  at  the  earliest  possible  hour,  and  Aunt  Milly,  finding 
that  they  were  resolved  to  start  before  breakfast,  and  thus 
knowing  that  the  credit  of  the  family  was  safe,  gave  a  glowing 
description  of  the  luxuries  that  she  had  intended  to  place  be 
fore  them. 

Little  Katy  gazed  with  surprise  and  alarm  on  the  strange 
faces  that  met  her  waking  eyes ;  but  there  was  something  so 
kind  and  reassuring  in  their  countenances,  she  soon  glided  to 
the  side  of  the  lady,  and  even  played  with  the  rings  that 
glittered  on  her  snowy  fingers.  Mrs.  Bellamy,  who  had  no 


28  MARCUS  WARLANDj,  OR, 

children  of  her  own,  felt  inexpressible  tenderness  for  this 
motherless  child,  confided  to  the  care  of  an  evidently  inebriate 
father,  and  a  slave  who,  however  faithful  and  affectionate, 
was  incapacitated,  by  her  darkened  intellect,  from  bestow 
ing  that  moral  and  mental  culture  her  dawning  years  de 
manded.  .There  was  something  peculiar  in  the  face  of  Katy 
— peculiar  for  a  child  in  any  situation,  but  especially  in  hers. 
A  pensive,  even  melancholy,  expression,  and  a  total  absence 
of  colour  gave  her  a  look  of  refinement,  more  interesting  than 
mere  rosy,  joyous  beauty.  Her  eyes  were  blue,  of  a  darker 
hue  than  her  brother's,  but  their  lashes  were  of  raven  black 
ness,  and  her  eyebrows  and  hair  were  exceedingly  dark.  Aunt 
Milly  had  arrayed  her  in  her  best  frock  and  apron,  and 
brushed  her  hair  till  it  looked  glossy  as  the  wing  of  a  bird : 
and  when  a  child  feels  that  she  has  her  best  dress  on,  no  mat 
ter  what  that  dress  may  be,  whether  the  costliest  silk  or  the 
cheapest  calico,  the  association  is  the  same,  and  all  the  self- 
respect  which  external  circumstances  can  give  her  elevates  her 
spirits.  It  was  this  consciousness  of  looking  her  best,  that 
gave  her  confidence  to  caress  Mrs.  Bellamy's  gem-decorated 
hand,  and  peep  into  her  pale  face  with  those  eyes,  that  resem 
bled  the  violet  in  colour  and  their  natural  bending  towards 
the  earth. 

"  You  are  a  very  sweet  little  girl,"  said  the  kind-hearted 
lady,  putting  her  arm  caressingly  round  her.  "  Whom  do 
you  love  best?" 

"  Marcus  and  Aunt  Milly,  and  father,  too,"  answered  the 
child. 

"  Marcus  is  very  kind  to  you,  is  he  not  ?  He  is  a  good 
brother,  I  know." 

"  Oh,  yes,  ma'am,"  replied  Katy,  with  a  fervour  that  changed 
the  whole  expression  of  her  features ;  "  he  is  so  good  ! — you 
don't  know  how  good  he  is.  He  saves  all  the  money  he  gets, 
and  puts  it  in  a  little  box  with  a  hole  in  the  top,  where  it 
•?an't  come  out  again,  for  me,  when  I  get  big  enough  to  go  to 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  29 

school.  I  can  read  now;  he  taught  me  how  himself,  and 
reads  books  to  me  every  night." 

"  Does  lie  go  to  school,  my  child  ?" 

"  No,  ma'am ;  but  father  teaches  him.  Father  is  a  great 
scholar,  and  knows  every  thing.  Brother  Marcus  can  read 
Latin  and  Greek,  too,  and  father  says  he  will  be  a  great  man 
some  time." 

"  But  how  does  your  brother  earn  money?"  asked  the  lady, 
urged  by  a  better  motive  than  idle  curiosity.  They  happened 
to  be  alone  in  the  room  at  this  moment,  as  all  were  busy  in 
preparation  for  their  departure. 

"  He  catches  fish,  and  sells  them ;  and  sometimes  the  gen 
tlemen  that  cross  in  the  boat  give  him  money;  and  he  makes 
little  willow  baskets  at  night,  and  Aunt  Milly  carries  them 
way  off  and  sells  them  for  him.  But  you  mustn't  tell  of  that, 
please  don't,"  added  the  child,  lowering  her  voice.  "  He 
don't  want  it  known,  'cause  he  says  it's  girl-work.  I  help 
him  make  them,  too.  Aunt  Milly  keeps  the  box  for  us,  and 
puts  a  heap  in  it  herself." 

"  And  how  does  she  earn  money  in  a  place  like  this,  and 
what  is  she  going  to  do  with  it  ?  Help  send  you  to  school  ?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,  that's  what  she  does  it  for.  She  takes  in 
washing  and  sewing;  all  she  can  get,  though  that  aint  much; 
we  live  so  far  off.  Uncle  Simon  brings  work  to  her." 

"And  who  is  Uncle  Simon?" 

"Don't  you  know  Uncle  Simon?"  asked  the  child  in  an 
accent  of  astonishment.  "He  comes  to  see  Aunt  Milly,  and 
he's  so  good.  He's  lame,  and  goes  with  a  crutch ;  and  he's 
old,  too;  and  his  master  don't  make  him  do  much,  but  he 
does  a  heap  for  us,  for  all  that." 

"  But  your  father,  my  dear  child,  your  father  puts  money 
in  your  little  box,  too,  does  he  not?" 

"Father  never  has  any  money  to  put  anywhere,"  replied 
little  Katy,  a  shade  of  inexpressible  melancholy  stealing  over 
her  sweet  countenance.  "He  spends  it  right  off." 


SO  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

Mrs.  Bellamy  felt  that  she  had  arrived  at  a  point  where  it 
would  be  sacrilege  to  go  farther.  The  vices  of  a  parent  must 
be  sacred  ground  to  an  innocent  child,  and  never  invaded  by 
others,  in  their  presence;  but  she  knew  little  Katy  must  be 
aware  of  the  appropriation  of  her  father's  money,  and  that, 
young  as  she  was,  she  mourned  over  his  degradation,  and  its 
awful  consequences. 

"  I  love  father,  because  he  loves  me,"  said  the  child,  fearful 
Mrs.  Bellamy  would  think  ill  of  him,  because  she  had  said 
he  put  no  money  in  her  little  hoard. 

"  Will  you  tell  your  brother  to  come  and  see  me  a  few  mo 
ments  before  I  go  ?  I  want  to  speak  with  him." 

Away  Katy  flew,  and  soon  returned,  holding  Marcus  by 
the  hand,  whose  face  reflected  the  radiance  of  the  rising  day. 
He  stood  before  her,  his  cap  in  his  hand,  and  a  modest  blush, 
glowing  on  his  cheek. 

"  You  were  so  very  kind  and  considerate  as  to  give  up  your 
bed  and  sleep  on  the  hard  floor,"  said  Mrs.  Bellamy,  "  I  owa 
you  some  return ;  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

"Nothing,  ma'am.  I  am  sure,  I  hope  you  don't  think  I 
did  it  in  the  thought  of  being  paid.  Besides,  it's  father's  bed, 
not  mine.  If  anybody  is  to  be  thanked,  it's  he,  not  I,  ma'am." 

It  was  very  strange,  but  this  rich  and  high-bred  lady  felt 
embarrassed  at  the  thought  of  offering  money  to  the  son  of  the 
poor  ferryman.  She  felt  afraid  of  offending  that  innate  no 
bility  of  soul,  which  gave  such  intelligence  and  spirit  to  his 
whole  countenance.  She  had  drawn  an  eagle  from  her  purse, 
but  hesitated  in  what  manner  to  present  it.  At  length  she 
said,  while  a  slight  colour  mantled  her  delicate  cheek, — 

"  Your  little  sister  tells  me  that  you  are  very  good  to  her, 
and  are  saving  all  your  money  for  her  use.  Will  you  add  this 
to  her  little  store,  and  remember  too  that  you  have  friends  now 
who  will  always  feel  interested  in  your  welfare  ?" 

"  Thank  you,  ma'am,"  said  Marcus,  receiving  the  golden. 
coin  with  a  bright  blush,  and  bowing  low  as  he  took  it  from 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  31 

that  beautiful  jewelled  hand.  "  You  have  given  it  to  her,  and 
I  must  not  refuse  it.  But  we've  done  nothing  to  deserve  it. 
It  is  all  your  gift,  and  a  generous  one,  I'm  sure." 

"Don't  you  desire  to  go  to  school  yourself?"  asked  Mrs. 
Bellamy.  "  You  will  not  be  contented  to  stay  here  and  row 
a  ferry-boat  much  longer.  You  ought  not  to  be.  You  were 
made  for  something  better.  Have  you  no  relations  that  can 
assist  you  ?" 

"Not  that  I  know,  ma'am.  I  do  desire  to  go  to  school.  I 
feel  as  if  I  should  some  day,  but  I  could  not  leave  my  father 
now.  He  could  not  get  along  without  me.  He  instructs  me, 
too,  when  he  is  well  enough."  He  paused  with  painful  con 
fusion,  and  then  continued  :  "  My  father  is  an  educated  man, 
and  takes  great  delight  in  giving  me  lessons  when  he  has  time. 
He  has  a  good  many  books,  which  I  love  to  read.  See  here, 
ma'am,"  said  he,  drawing  aside  a  little  calico  curtain  over 
the  fireplace,  and  exhibiting  several  rows  of  classic  volumes. 
"  These  are  my  treasures.  We  had  a  large  library  once,  but 
these  are  all  that  are  left.  Contented  !"  repeated  he,  his  lips 
curling  with  that  peculiar  curve  she  had  admired  so  much  the 
night  before.  "  Oh !  no,  ma'am — don't  think  I  am  contented 
here." 

"  You  ought  not  to  be,"  said  the  lady,  rising  and  folding 
her  shawl  more  closely  round  her,  for  she  heard  the  rumbling 
of  the  carriage  wheels  approaching  the  door.  "  You  must 
think  of  me  sometimes,  and  remember  what  I  have  said  to  you." 

"  Think  of  you  !"  exclaimed  the  boy,  with  fervid,  enthusi 
astic  gratitude.  "  Oh  !  madam,  how  could  I  ever  forget  you  ?" 

The  gentleness,  kindness,  and  condescension  of  this  beauti 
ful  lady  opened  a  fount  of  sensibility  in  the  young  heart  of 
Marcus  that  was  never  again  sealed.  She  appeared  in  that 
rude  cabin  like  an  angel  visitant,  a  messenger  of  mercy,  bear 
ing  tidings  from  a  fairer,  purer  world.  He  felt  that  he  was 
of  a  kindred  nature,  that  it  was  for  such  fellowship  he  was 
created,  and  he  made  a  vow  to  himself  that  he  would  prove 


32  MARCUS   WARLANDJ   OR, 

worthy  of  the  interest  he  had  excited  in  her.  He  would  strive, 
and  toil,  and  struggle  as  never  boy  yet  toiled  and  struggled, 
with  an  opposing  destiny,  till  he  had  won  back  that  position 
in  society  his  father  had  forfeited;  and  perhaps,  when  his  arm 
had  the  strength  and  his  spirit  the  power  of  manhood,  this  fair, 
rich,  and  beautiful  woman  might  possibly  need  his  protection 
and  aid.  She  might  be  riding  in  the  darkness  of  night,  and 
her  carriage  hurried  to  the  brink  of  a  precipice,  and  he  rush 
forward  and  arrest  the  plunging  horses ;  or  she  might  be  at 
tacked  by  robbers,  and  his  protecting  arm  shield  her  from 
their  rapacity  and  rage.  All  this  flashed  through  the  brain 
of  the  high-reaching  boy,  and  gave  extraordinary  animation  to 
his  countenance.  The  lady  kissed  the  round  cheek  of  Katy, 
and  held  out  her  hand  to  the  boy  in  token  of  farewell ;  then 
yielding  to  an  irresistible  impulse,  she  bent  down  and  kissed 
his  forehead.  Marcus  felt  as  if  his  mother  had  come  down  from 
heaven,  and  breathed  her  balmy  breath  upon  his  brow.  The 
grace,  the  tenderness  of  the  action  swelled  his  very  soul.  It 
was  so  long  since  he  had  felt  such  a  dear  caress.  It  hallowed 
him ;  it  set  him  apart  as  something  holy ;  it  filled  him  with 
divine  aspirations.  Tears  gushed  like  a  fountain  from  his  eyes, 
and,  ashamed  of  his  weakness,  he  darted  through  a  back-door, 
and  plunged  into  the  thicket  of  pine  trees  that  sheltered  the 
cabin.  Mrs.  Bellamy  turned  to  the  opposite  door  with  glis 
tening  eyes,  where  she  encountered  Aunt  Milly,  who  had  come 
to  take  an  elaborate  farewell. 

She  pressed  in  her  hand  a  generous  token  of  remembrance, 
which  the  negro,  in  her  honest  pride,  was  ashamed  to  receive. 

"  Oh  !  mistress,  it's  a  shame,  I'm  sure,  to  take  so  much  for 
just  nothing  at  all.  If  it  had  been  any  other  time,  I  could 
have  served  you  up  something  nice  and  delicate.  If  you'd 
stayed  to  breakfast,  and  let  me  make  some  fricasee  or  quality 
dish  for  you,  'twould  been  different.  Then  the  bed-kiver- 
was  so  ashamed — all  the  nice  linen  just  washed  and  wrenched. 
But  you'll  'scuse  it,  mistress,  I  know  you  will,  for  you  are  a 


THE   LONG   MOSS  SPRING.  8<J 

raal  born  lady,  every  inch  of  you ;  and  the  Lord  bless  and  pre- 
sarve  you,  and  give  you  and  good  master  too  a  merciful  de 
liverance  to  your  journey's  end.  May  goodness  and  marcy 
follow  you  all  the  days  of  your  life,  and  may  you  live  herearter 
in  the  big  house  the  preachers  built  up  yonder,  without  any 
hands  or  tools — etarnal  in  the  heavens." 

Aunt  Milly  had  a  habit  of  winding  up  her  best  speeches 
with  quotations  from  Scripture,  for  the  sake  of  effect,  and 
though  they  were  sometimes  rather  obscure,  and  perverted  from 
their  original  meaning,  they  were  not  without  point  or  ex 
pression. 

"I  respect  you  for  your  kindness  to  those  children,"  said 
the  lady,  with  a  sweet  smile.  "  Continue  to  be  as  kind  and 
good  to  them,  and  God  will  reward  you,  Aunt  Milly." 

"  Oh !  mistress,  you  are  so  good — bless  your  sweet  face.  You 
look  just  like  the  seven  seraphims  that  were  cast  out  of  the 
blessed  Mary  Magdalen — just  like  the  sweet  angel,  that  you 
are.  1  try  to  do  my  duty  to  them  children,  the  Lord  knows. 
It's  all  I  lives  and  prays  for." 

Aunt  Milly  was  now  sobbing  outright  in  the  corner  of  her 
apron,  for  Mrs.  Bellamy  had  touched  the  soft,  porous  part  of 
her  heart,  that  was  always  saturated  with  tears,  which  oozed 
out  at  the  slightest  pressure. 

"  Isabel,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Bellamy,  taking  her  hand  to 
lead  her  to  the  carriage,  "  we  are  all  ready ;  the  horses  seem, 
very  gentle,  so  do  not  be  alarmed." 

"I  do  not  fear  by  daylight,  when  you  are  near  me,"  replied 
she,  taking  her  seat  on  the  crimson  cushions  that  were  gathered 
from  all  parts  of  the  carriage  around  her.  Mr.  Bellamy  shook 
hands  with  Mr.  Warland,  with  whom  he  had  just  held  another 
long  and  interesting  conversation,  and  with  a  hearty  " God 
bless  you,"  took  his  place  by  the  side  of  his  wife. 

"  I  feel  quite  out  of  my  province  in  a  carriage,"  said  Mr. 
Bellamy,  trying  to  settle  himself  in  the  midst  of  the  bundles 
and  carpet-bags,  and  the  feet  of  the  black  girl  on  the  opposite 
54 


MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

seat.  "  Give  me  the  back  of  the  horse  and  the  open  air ;  but 
my  wife  would  have  my  company,  and  I  was  obliged  to  obey. 
Drive  on,  Jerry,  and  remember  whom  you  are  carrying." 

The  carriage  rolled  along.  Mr.  Warland  stood  rooted  to 
the  spot  where  they  left,  all  the  remnant  goodness  of  his  nature 
roused  to  action  by  coming  into  collision  with  one  so  noble 
and  generous.  Aunt  Milly  gazed  after  them  from  the  threshold 
with  as  much  reverence  as  Abraham  did  after  the  departing 
angels  who  had  sojourned  in  his  tent;  while  little  Katy  raised 
herself  on  tiptoe  to  catch  one  more  glimpse  of  the  glittering 
wheels.  But  none  gazed  with  the  same  intense  feelings  as 
swelled  the  heart  of  the  boy  who  had  sought  the  deep  pine 
grove  to  hide  his  gushing  tears.  The  child  even  then  had  a 
revelation  of  his  destiny  as  a  man.  He  believed  that  God  had 
something  great  in  store  for  him,  and  he  was  right. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"Wo!  wo!  that  aught  so  gentle  and  so  young 
Should  thus  be  called  to  stand  in  the  tempest's  path, 
And  bear  the  token  and  the  hue  of  death 
On  a  bright  soul  so  soon  ! — We  are  fallen 
On  dark  and  evil  days." 

"  My  boy's  proud  eye  is  on  me,  and  the  things 
Which  rush,  in  stormy  darkness,  through  my  soul. 
Shrink  from  his  glance.    I  cannot  answer  here." 

SIEGE  OF  VALENCIA. 

IT  was  the  beginning  of  winter  when  the  travellers  stopped 
at  the  ferryman's  cabin,  and  long  after  their  departure  a  wake 
of  brightness  seemed  reflected  on  the  stream  of  his  existence. 
He  had  been  strengthened  to  keep  the  solemn  promise  by 
which  he  had  bound  himself,  and  he  already  walked  with  a 
Simer  tread  and  more  elevated  bearing.  At  night,  by  the 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  35 

blaze  of  the  pine-wood  knot,  he  sat  down  by  the  hearth-side, 
while  Marcus  conned  his  classic  lessons,  or  read  the  historic 
page,  and  Katy,  cradled  in  his  arms,  seemed  to  infuse  into  his 
heart  the  purity  and  tranquillity  of  her  own.  The  shout  of 
the  traveller  was  often  heard,  borne  across  the  river  by  the 
breeze  of  night,  but  no  one  like  the  generous  Bellamy  and  his 
sweet-faced  wife  came  to  gladden  their  dwelling. 

"  He  said  he  would  return  in  about  six  months,"  said  he  to 
himself,  while  apparently  absorbed  in  the  contents  of  a  book. 
"  More  than  two  have  already  passed.  Shall  I  hold  out  to 
the  end,  and  be  saved  ?  Yes  ! — if  there  is  truth  or  strength  in, 
human  resolution,  I  will.  I  feel  like  a  regenerated  being.  I 
can  meet  the  clear  glance  of  my  boy  without  quailing.  I  can 
press  the  rosy  lips  of  my  darling  without  fear  of  scorching  them 
with  my  fiery  breath.  I  can  look  up  to  heaven,  and  ask  the 
blessing  of  my  God,  confident  that  I  am  in  the  path  of  duty, 
and  that  His  hand  will  guide  me,  and  His  rod  sustain  me. 
Yes  !  I  feel  there  is  hope  even  for  me." 

Marcus  studied  with  an  enthusiasm  he  had  never  manifested 
before.  The  words  of  the  beautiful  lady  were  ever  thrilling 
his  memory  and  inciting  him  to  new  exertions.  Then,  his 
father's  regeneration,  with  what  joy  and  gratitude  did  it  inspire 
him  !  It  is  true,  he  had  abstained  before,  and  again  relapsed ; 
but  it  seemed  impossible  now  that  he  ever  would  sink  again 
into  the  abyss  of  shame  from  which  he  had  emerged.  Never 
since  he  had  dwelt  in  that  little  cabin,  had  he  felt  so  happy  in, 
the  present,  so  hopeful  of  the  future.  A  new  source  of  enjoy 
ment  was  also  opened  to  him.  As  a  reward  for  his  extraordi 
nary  progress  in  the  classics,  his  father  had  allowed  him  to 
commence  the  reading  of  Shakspeare,  which  was  one  of  the 
rich  gems  saved  from  the  general  wreck.  The  boy  felt  as  if 
he  were  in  the  midst  of  the  glories  of  a  new  creation.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  he  was  an  instrument  with  ten  thousand  keys 
which  the  mighty  Master  of  the  human  heart  was  touching  at 
his  will,  waking  the  thundering  notes  of  passion  or  the  n  ellow 


36  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

strains  of  tenderness  and  love.  Boy  as  he  was,  he  felt  he 
knew  them  all ;  and  in  every  lovely  heroine  he  traced  a  simili 
tude  to  his  beautiful  benefactress.  He  thought  not,  or  cared 
not,  that  she  was  older  than  these  divine  ideals.  He  clothed 
ihe  young  and  impassioned  Juliet  with  her  pale  and  spiritual 
loveliness ;  the  tender  Cordelia  with  her  matchless  grace ;  and 
in  imagination  the  gentle  Desdemona  spoke  in  her  silver  ac 
cents.  Little  did  Mrs.  Bellamy  imagine  the  deep  worship  she 
had  inspired,  the  romantic  reverential  devotion  pledged  to  her 
cause  by  this  youthful  devotee.  She  was  henceforth  to  him 
the  Star  of  the  East,  that  was  to  lead  him  onward  to  glory  and 
happiness.  But  Marcus  had  too  much  to  accomplish,  too 
great  an  object  before  him,  to  indulge  too  long  in  these  ideal 
pleasures,  whatever  their  fascinations  might  be.  He  would  start 
up  with  a  desperate  resolution,  shut  the  book,  run  into  the 
kitchen  where  Uncle  Simon  and  Aunt  Milly  were  chatting 
cosily  together,  and  seizing  the  bundle  of  osiers  Uncle  Simon 
was  sure  to  have  ready  for  him,  would  either  sit  down  a  while 
by  these  two  faithful  friends,  while  his  fingers  wove  the  smooth, 
white  withes  together,  or  return  to  the  cabin,  and  snatching 
up  his  book,  lay  it  open  on  the  table,  glancing  furtively  at  the 
page,  and  taking  in  a  glimpse  of  poetic  beauty,  while  he 
braided  the  flexible  willows,  and  shaped  the  growing  basket. 
As  Katy  had  told  Mrs.  Bellamy,  he  did  not  like  to  have  it 
known  that  he  employed  himself  in  this  manner,  because  he 
thought  it  an  unmanly  occupation ;  but  as  Aunt  Milly  disposed 
of  them  for  him,  he  was  not  ashamed  of  working  at  home  in 
this  manner  for  the  holy  purpose  for  which  he  intended  to 
devote  his  gains.  Uncle  Simon,  the  lame  negro,  whom  Katy 
held  i^  such  veneration,  was  a  constant  visitor  at  the  cabin, 
and  vied  with  Milly  in  devotion  to  these  interesting  little 
children.  He  was  nearly  an  exempt  in  consequence  of  his  age 
and  lameness,  and  had  the  greatest  part  of  his  time  at  his  own 
disposal.  Aunt  Milly  washed  and  mended  his  clothes  for 
him;  and;  in  return,  he  was  always  bringing  some  acceptable 


TIIE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  37 

offering  to  her  and  the  children.  Milly  was  never  weary  of 
describing  to  him  the  ancient  honours  of  their  house,  and  he, 
considered  quite  an  oracle  in  his  tribe,  gave  her  long  lessons  of 
morality,  and  explained  the  Scriptures  with  unwearied  zeal. 
They  were  neither  of  them  idle  while  enjoying  these  social 
pleasures.  She  plied  the  needle  as  if  her  life  depended  upon 
her  completing  her  task,  and  he  either  braided  mats,  made 
brooms  by  peeling  down  the  smooth  oak  or  hickory  sticks,  or 
prepared  the  osiers  for  "  blessed  young  master." 

Simon's  hair  was  all  grizzled,  and  it  crisped  round  his 
black,  wrinkled  face,  making  a  gray  shade,  like  a  crown  of 
ashes  on  a  lump  of  shining  charcoal.  The  white  of  his  eyes 
had  a  yellow  tinge,  and  a  sallow  hue  had  also  stolen  over  the 
once  dazzling  ivory  of  his  teeth.  He  was  naturally  tall  and 
broad-shouldered,  but  in  consequence  of  his  lameness  was 
drawn  on  one  side,  and  the  muscles  on  one  side  of  his  neck 
were  considerably  contracted.  He  took  great  pains  with  his 
dress  when  he  came  to  see  Aunt  Milly,  who  kept  his  shirts  as 
white  as  the  unsunned  snow.  On  Sundays  he  wore  an  obsolete 
uniform  coat,  which  had  been  given  him  years  ago  by  his  old 
master,  who  was  a  militia  colonel.  Then,  the  military  grandeur 
of  his  attire,  united  with  his  crutch,  gave  him  a  similitude  to 
a  faded  warrior ;  but  all  the  battles  he  ever  fought  were  in  the 
church  militant,  of  which  he  was  the  most  celebrated  cham 
pion  of  all  his  tribe  who  dwelt  near  the  eastern  shores  of  the 
rushing  Chattahoochee. 

"  Now,  young  master,"  said  Simon,  when  Marcus,  with  his 
soul  still  echoing  to  the  sounding  strains  of  the  bard  of  Avon, 
was  flying  out  of  the  kitchen,  with  his  arms  entwined  with 
osiers;  "please  set  down  and  talk  a  little  to  old  Simon. 
That's  right — that's  a  cleber  master.  Milly  and  I  have  been 
a  argufying  Scripter,  and  she  says  it's  one  thing,  and  I  says 
another.  We  wants  you  to  set  us  right.  I  oughts  to  know 
best,  since  I've  been  a  preacher,  as  I  may  say,  sence  I  could 
tell  a  sweet  potater  from  a  cabbage-stalk ;  but  never  niind,  the 


88  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

wimmen  allers  thinks  tliey  knows  best,  master  Marcus ;  you'll 
find  that  out  bimeby — yah,  yah." 

When  Simon  laughed,  Milly  always  laughed  too,  out  of 
politeness ;  and  this  was  a  great  charm  in  her  manners,  in  his 
estimation. 

"  You  have  not  told  me  the  question,  Uncle  Simon.  How 
can  I  tell  which  is  right,  till  I  know  the  subject  of  dispute?" 

"  Now  this  it  is,  young  master.  Please  listen,  while  I  puts 
down  the  argument.  I  haven't  been  preaching  all  this  time 
for  nothing.  Now  /  says  that  Abram  offered  up  Isaac.  You 
know  Abram  was  a  mighty  great  parsonage,  and  the  Lord 
used  to  come  and  talk  with  him  just  as  I  talks  to  you,  sorter 
familiar  like.  Now  the  Lord,  says  he  to  Abram,  '  You  go 
and  take  Isaac' — Isaac,  mark  ye,  master — ( and  go  right  up  to 
Maria' — (I  allers  did  think  that  a  mighty  strange  way  to  call  a 
mountain) — 'and  pick  up  a  heap  of  wood  as  you  go  along, 
and  make  a  burn t-off  'ring  of  the  boy.'  Now  Milly,  says  she, 
it  was  Isaac  that  had  to  burn  up  Abram ;  and  when  I  tells 
her  it's  no  sich  thing,  she  says  it  makes  no  difference,  no  way 
— it's  just  as  the  Lord  pleases." 

"  Well,  what  difference  upon  airth  does  it  make  ?"  said 
Aunt  Milly,  giving  a  triumphant  wink  to  Marcus.  "  Here  is 
a  hoe-cake,  isn't  there  ?" 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  there  is." 

"Well,  if  you  eats  it,  it's  gone — and  if  /  eats  it,  it's  gone. 
It  makes  no  sort  of  difference — it's  gone,  any  way.  Now  I 
want  to  know  if  it  isn't  jist  the  same  about  Abram  and  Isaac. 
If  Abram  offered  up  Isaac,  he  was  gone ;  and  if  Isaac  burnt 
up  Abram,  he  was  gone.  It's  just  as  the  Lord  pleased." 

And  Aunt  Milly  nodded  her  head,  and  drew  out  a  long 
needle  of  thread,  as  if  her  argument  were  overwhelming  and 
unanswerable. 

"  I  will  get  my  Bible,  Aunt  Milly,  and  read  you  the  history 
of  Abraham  and  Isaac,  and  then  you  will  see  which  was  right." 

Marcus  brought  his  Bible,  and  sitting  down  between  the 
two  sable  disputants,  like  the  moonbeam  severing  a  midnight 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  39 

cloud,  he  read,  with  a  clear,  melodious  voice,  the  beautiful 
story  of  the  commanded  sacrifice  and  the  angelic  interposition. 
Milly  dropped  her  work,  and  leaned  on  her  right  elbow  to 
listen,  and  Simon  laid  down  his  braided  shucks  and  leaned  on 
his  left  arm  towards  the  youthful  reader.  The  whitish,  crispy 
wool  of  the  old  cripple  almost  touched  the  glistening  locks  of 
Marcus,  and  both  pair  of  large,  dilated  eyeballs  were  drawn, 
to  a  focus  on  the  boy's  beaming  countenance. 

"  Jist  listen — bless  his  heart — what  a  preacher  he  would 
make!"  exclaimed  Simon,  giving  Aunt  Milly  an  emphatic 
nudge ;  "and  you  sees  I  am  right,  too — I  knew  I  was.  The 
Lord  forgive  your  pervarseness." 

"  I  never  disputes  the  good  book  when  I  hears  it,  Simon ; 
and  I  allows  I  was  mistaken  this  time ;  but  it  might  have 
been  one  as  well  as  t'other,  that's  all." 

"  Now  I  jist  wants  to  convince  you  of  one  thing,"  con 
tinued  the  persevering  Simon,  "  that  it  does  make  a  heap  of 
difference  what  person  is  meant.  Suppose  I  puts  my  foot  in 
the  fire — you  don't  feel  it,  does  you  ?" 

"  No,  to  be  sure  I  dosn't." 

"  Well,  if  you  puts  yourn  in,  7  don't  feel  it.  Then  you 
see  that  proves  the  difference ;  so  there's  no  use  of  argufying 
no  more." 

"  No  more  there  aint,  Simon,"  said  Milly,  anxious  to  change 
the  subject,  as  she  was  conscious  he  had  won  the  victory,  and 
exulted  in  her  defeat. 

It  may  be  that  the  forensic  disputations  of  our  sable  logi 
cians  were  as  lucid,  and  their  subject  as  important,  as  some  of 
our  fairer  and  more  learned  brethren's.  The  negro  certainly 
takes  great  pride  in  argument,  particularly  on  religious  sub 
jects;  and  intrenching  himself  behind  the  bulwark  of  hia 
faith,  he  clings  to  his  preconceived  opinions  with  a  firmness 
and  pertinacity  which  in  ancient  days  would  have  won  him 
the  blazing  crown  of  martyrdom.  His  religion,  blended,  as  it 
is,  with  the  most  intense  superstition,  sometimes  gives  a  tone 
of  sublimity  to  his  thoughts,  in  the  midst  of  th-3  most  ludi- 


40  MARCUS  WABLAND;  OR, 

crous  associations.  He  sees  the  ghost  flitting  through  the 
midnight  shades  of  the  dark  pine  woods,  and  hears  the  wail 
ing  of  the  lost  spirit  in  the  notes  of  the  melancholy  whippoor- 
will,  and  the  hooting  of  the  solemn  owl.  There  is  an  African 
mythology  as  well  as  a  Grecian  and  pagan  one,  and  the  ne 
gro's  night  is  peopled  by  shapes  which  would  puzzle  the  most 
ingenious  statuary  to  fashion,  or  the  most  inventive  artist  to 
delineate. 

Winter  glided  away  peacefully  and  monotonously  at  the 
ferryman's  cabin,  and  the  gentle,  almost  imperceptible  ap 
proach  of  a  southern  spring  was  felt  rather  than  seen.  The 
turbid  waters  looked  clearer  and  bluer,  the  holly-trees  had  a 
brighter,  deeper  green,  and  the  music  of  birds  began  to  vocalize 
the  lonely  margin  of  the  waters. 

Mr.  Warland,  confident  in  his  own  strength,  looked  for  the 
return  of  Mr.  Bellamy  with  great  impatience.  He  was  very 
weary  of  his  present  mode  of  existence,  and  panted  for  a  more 
congenial  field  of  action.  He  had  remained  completely  do 
mesticated  during  the  winter  months,  and  out  of  the  reach  of 
temptation ;  for  he  poured  out  every  drop  of  alcohol  left  in 
his  possession,  and  ground  the  bottle  to  powder,  that  he 
might  annihilate  even  the  home  of  his  enemy. 

There  was  to  be  a  kind  of  political  meeting,  a  few  miles 
distant,  which  he  was  anxious  to  attend.  Marcus  saw  the 
preparations  for  his  departure  with  foreboding  heart.  Never 
had  he  returned  from  such  a  gathering  without  a  reeling  step 
and  a  cursing  lip.  It  was  always  the  commencement  of  a 
long  season  of  inebriation.  Marcus  longed  to  warn  him  of 
his  danger,  and  entreat  him  to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  tempta 
tion  and  sin.  But  this  would  seem  such  an  insult  to  his 
father's  character,  he  could  not  frame  the  words  that  trembled 
on  his  lips.  They  were  written  legibly,  however,  in  his 
earnest  eyes,  and  Mr.  Warland  answered  as  if  they  had  been 
spoken. 

"  Fear  not,  my  son;  your  father  will  not  disgrace  himself 
again.  He  has  profited  by  the  bitter  lessons  of  experience, 


THE  LONG  MOSS   SPRING.  41 

and  can  say  to  the  tempter,  with  unhesitating  voice,  'A vaunt ! 
carry  your  baffled  arts  elsewhere/  " 

Marcus  tried  to  smile  and  shake  off  the  depression  that  hung 
heavy  on  his  mind.  He  was  quite  a  Nimrod  in  the  woods, 
and  taking  his  gun  and  pouch,  and  mounting  a  pony  that  Uncle 
Simon  had  left  for  his  use,  followed  by  his  bounding  dog,  he 
soon  forgot  his  sad  forebodings  in  the  excitement  of  hunting. 
Often  had  he  seen  the  track  of  the  flying  deer;  he  had  even 
caught  a  glimpse  of  their  branching  antlers  through  the  sway 
ing  boughs ;  but  never  had  he  brought  the  noble  animal  at 
bay,  or  carried  home  a  saddle 'of  venison  to  the  exulting  Milly. 
But  this  day  he  actually  won  the  crown  of  glory.  He  killed 
a  beautiful  deer  with  his  own  hand,  and  bathed  his  knife  in 
the  life-blood  of  its  panting  heart.  As  the  victim  turned  upon 
him  its  wild,  wistful,  dying  eyes,  ere  they  closed  for  ever,  the 
triumphant  boy  felt  a  pang  of  unutterable  remorse  dart  through 
his  heart.  The  dripping  knife  fell  from  his  hand,  and  a  mist 
darkened  his  vision.  He  felt  that  he  was  a  cruel  murderer, 
and  would  have  given  the  best  blood  of  his  own  heart  to  have 
restored  life  to  the  stiffening  limbs  of  the  bleeding  animal. 
Then  he  remembered  what  a  trophy  it  was,  how  much  money 
it  would  add  to  his  slowly  increasing  store,  how  Aunt  Milly 
would  praise  his  exploit,  and  little  Katy's  blue  eyes  dance 
with  rapture,  when  she  saw  him  bearing  it  homeward,  swung 
in  triumph  across  his  pony,  its  antlers  adorned  with  the 
holly's  shining  leaves.  All  the  honours  he  anticipated  awaited 
his  return,  and  he  watched  his  father's  coming  with  redoubled 
anxiety,  that  he  might  inform  him  of  his  unlooked-for  achieve 
ment. 

"  Don't  leave  your  gun  here,  brother,"  said  little  Katy,  as 
he  leaned  it  against  the  wall  in  a  corner  of  the  cabin,  "  I'm 
afraid  of  it." 

"  But  you  must  not  touch  it,  or  go  near  it,  and  then  there 
is  no  danger.  There  is  a  load  in  it  that  I  do  not  wish  to 
waste,  as  I  intend  to  go  out  again  to-morrow.  Aunt  Milly, 
you  must  have  a  dish  of  smoking  venison  prepared  for  father's 


42  MARCUS   WARLANP;    OR, 

supper;  we  will  have  one  noble  meal,  and  sell  the  rest,  skin 
and  all.  I'll  keep  the  antlers,  however,  to  adorn  the  door  of 
our  cabin,  and  to  let  people  know  a  descendant  of  the  mighty 
Assyrian  hunter  dwells  beneath  this  roof." 

Marcus  must  be  pardoned  a  little  boasting.  For  a  boy  of 
ten  the  capture  of  the  deer  is  an  ultima  Thule  of  ambition, 
and  whatever  after  victories  life  may  offer,  no  laurels  glow  with 
a  brighter  lustre  than  those  won  in  the  wild  green  wood. 

"  I  wish  father  would  come,"  exclaimed  Katy,  when  the 
night  grew  dark,  and  the  children  drew  near  the  hearth  where 
the  venison  exhaled  its  savoury  odours.  Though  the  spring 
time  of  the  year  diffused  a  mid-day  glow,  the  chill  night-air 
required  the  warmth  of  a  fire,  and  the  light-wood  knot  was 
the  only  lamp  that  illumined  their  dwelling. 

"  I  wish  he  would,  indeed,"  cried  Marcus,  the  glow  of  suc 
cess  fading  away  in  the  chill  of  apprehension.  He  stood  at  the 
door  looking,  with  his  hand  over  his  brow,  into  the  thickening 
shadows. 

"  Never  mind,  young  master,"  said  Milly,  pitying  the  hun 
gry  Katy,  "  you  can  eat  your  supper,  and  I'll  keep  ole  master's 
hot  at  the  fire,  and  serve  it  up  for  him  when  he  come  back." 

Katy  rejoiced  in  this  arrangement,  but  Marcus  could  not 
eat.  A  sense  of  coming  evil  produced  that  sickness  of  the 
soul,  a  thousand  times  more  deadly  than  physical  disease.  He 
was  as  sure  that  his  father  would  return  shorn  of  his  regene 
rated  manhood,  as  if  he  saw  him  staggering  over  the  thresh 
old.  He  came  at  last,  just  as  his  son's  prophetic  eye  had  be 
held  him,  reeling  into  the  room,  followed  by  a  rough-looking 
stranger,  who  came  in  with  his  hat  on,  and  took  a  seat  by  the 
fire,  with  the  confidence  of  a  welcome  guest.  Marcus  gazed 
upon  his  father  with  a  look  such  as  a  child  of  light  might  cast 
upon  fallen  humanity,  then  turned  inquiringly  towards  the 
dark-bearded  and  forbidding  looking  stranger. 

"  What  are  you  staring  at  me  so  for  ?"  muttered  Warland, 
pushing  his  chair  back  at  the  imminent  risk  of  falling  out  of 
it.  "  Call  Milly,  and  let's  have  some  supper." 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  45 

"  Marcus  has  killed  a  deer/'  cried  little  Katy,  eager  to  an 
nounce  the  astounding  tidings.  "  Only  think,  Marcus  has 
killed  a  deer,  father." 

"We  will  not  sully  the  paper  by  recording  the  oath  that  fell 
from  Warland's  lips,  and  seemed  to  blister  Katy's  spotless 
cheek,  for  she  turned  away  shrinking,  like  a  young  mimosa, 
and  drew  nearer  Aunt  Milly,  who  was  placing  the  venison  and 
corn-bread  on  the  table,  with  a  clouded  brow.  She  mourned 
for  the  renewed  degradation  of  their  house,  and  for  the  fresh 
sorrows  of  her  darling  children.  She  was  unaware  of  the  evil 
impending  over  herself. 

"  Is  this  the  woman  ?"  asked  the  stranger,  measuring  her 
from  head  to  foot  with  a  bold,  calculating  glance. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Warland,  "  but  wait  a  while — the  children." 

"  I  tell  you  I'm  in  a  hurry,"  said  the  man,  "  and  must  be 
off  directly.  Look  round  here,  nigger,  and  tell  us  how  old 
you  are." 

"  It's  none  of  your  business,"  said  Milly,  rolling  her  eyes 
portentously  at  him,  a  faint  glimpse  of  his  purpose  dawning 
on  her  understanding. 

"  I  shall  teach  you  better  manners,  I  promise  you,"  said  the 
man,  giving  a  whizzing  motion  to  the  whip  he  carried  in  his 
right  hand,  and  which  he  had  been  trailing  idly  on  the  floor. 

"  When  you're  my  master,  you  may,"  said  Milly,  with  a 
scornful  toss  of  her  turbaned  brows. 

"  I'm  your  master  now,  if  I  choose  to  take  you,  so  none  of 
your  airs  to  me."  Then  turning  to  Warland,  who  was  cower 
ing  before  the  flashing  eye  of  Marcus,  he  added,  "  I'll  keep 
to  the  bargain,  and  give  you  what  we  agreed.  If  I  find  you've 
deceived  me,  however,  and  she  proves  unsound,  or  lazy,  or  un 
manageable,  I'll  not  pay  you  one  cent." 

"  Father,"  exclaimed  Marcus,  coming  between  him  and  the 
man,  directly  in  front  of  Aunt  Milly,  in  whose  veins  the  burn 
ing  blood  of  Africa  was  boiling  with  indignation ;  "  father, 
you  are  not  going  to  sell  Aunt  Milly — you  cannot — you  dare 
not  do  it." 


44  MARCUS  WAUL  AND;  OR, 

"Why  can't  I?"  cried  the  perjured  wretch,  quailing  before 
the  bright  rebuking  glance  that  seemed  to  scorch  his  brow, 
tl  She  belongs  to  me,  and  I've  a  right  to  do  what  I  please  with 
her." 

"  You  haven't  the  right/'  cried  the  undaunted  boy,  "  you  are 
perjured  if  you  do  it,  in  the  sight  of  God  and  men.  You  pro 
mised  my  mother  on  her  death-bed  that  you  never  would  part 
her  from  us.  You  told  her,  if  you  ever  did,  that  you  prayed 
God  would  destroy  you,  body  and  soul.  Oh!  my  father; 
think  what  you  are  doing.  Oh,  you  don't  know  what  you  are 
doing;  you  are  not  yourself;  I  feared  it  would  be  so.  If  you 
had  only  stayed  at  home !"  Marcus  could  not  go  on ;  a  suffo 
cating  sense  of  shame  and  dishonour  reflected  from  the  author 
of  his  being,  smothered  his  voice.  Then  Aunt  Milly's  impri 
soned  wrath  found  vent.  Pressing  closer  to  her,  the  pale  and 
trembling  Katy,  who  had  sprung  into  her  arms  and  pillowed 
her  white  cheek  on  the  sable  bosom  that  had  fostered  her  with 
all  a  mother's  tenderness,  her  eyes,  burning  like  ignited  char 
coal,  flashed  from  her  master  to  the  insolent  stranger,  and  back 
again,  their  zigzag  lightning. 

"  I  told  my  mistress,"  said  she,  panting  at  every  breath, 
"I  told  her  they  should  take  every  drop  of  my  heart's 
blood  'fore  they  took  me  from  these  children,  and  they  shall. 
If  master  is  a  mind  to  parjure  his  soul,  and  fly  right  in  the 
face  of  the  Lord  Almighty  on  the  back  of  the  evil  sarpent, 
I'm  not  going  to  do  it,  not  I.  That's  right,  honey;  hold  tight 
to  old  Milly,  she'll  never  let  go  on  you  long  as  she  breathe 
the  breath  of  life.  Stand  up,  young  master,  they  can't  hurt 
you;  the  hairs  of  your  head  is  all  counted.  The  Lord  that 
'livered  Moses  out  of  the  lion's  foornace  will  keep  you  from 
the  snare  of  Satan,  and  the  prongs  of  the  wicked  ones." 

The  man,  who  seemed  to  admire  this  exhibition  of  spirit,  a3 
a  proof  of  the  physical  power  and  energy  of  the  slave  he  was 
about  to  purchase,  laughed  deridingly,  and  told  her  to  come 
down  oif  her%  stilts,  and  be  ready  to  march. 

"Sir,"  said  Marcus,  feeling  his   strength   insufficient   to 


THE   LONG   MOSS    SPRING.  45 

wrestle  with  this  tall,  strong  man,  in  defence  of  Milly,  and 
determined  to  appeal  to  his  better  feelings,  "  you  cannot  wish 
to  take  from  us  our  only  servant.  We  have  no  mother,  and 
my  little  sister  would  die  of  grief,  if  you  deprive  her  of  her 
nurse.  She  will  have  no  one  to  take  care  of  her.  There  are 
plenty  of  negroes  to  buy,  who  can  be  better  spared,  if  you 
must  traffic  in  human  blood.  Leave  us  our  only  one,  the  last 
of  all  we've  had." 

The  man  seemed  moved  by  this  appeal,  and  might  have 
been  softened,  had  it  not  been  for  the  boy's  reproach  upon  his 
heartless  trade.  Angry  thus  to  be  rebuked  by  a  mere  strip 
ling,  a  child,  he  assumed  a  rougher  demeanour,  and  declared, 
with  a  blistering  oatb,  that  he  would  not  be  browbeat  by 
children,  and  that  the  creature  should  tramp  with  him 
directly.  He  raised  his  whip  in  a  threatening  manner,  as  if 
he  would  intimidate  the  fair-haired  boy  who  dared  to  cross  his 
path  with  such  unprecedented  boldness. 

With  the  bound  of  the  young  deer,  whose  antlered  head  he 
had  so  lately  laid  low,  Marcus  sprang  to  the  corner  where  his 
gun  was  leaning,  seized  it,  and  leaping  back  in  front  of  Milly, 
levelled  it  at  the  breast  of  the  stranger. 

"  Touch  her  if  you  dare,"  said  he,  in  a  commanding  tone ; 
"  lay  one  finger  on  her,  and  I'll  stretch  you,  dead  at  my  feet." 

The  slight  form  of  the  boy  seemed  to  tower  and  dilate  with 
the  energy  of  his  passion,  and  the  darkening  iris  of  his  eyes 
looked  black  as  jet,  and  scintillated  with  living  sparks.  The 
drunken  father,  roused  by  this  splendid  exhibition  of  juvenile 
power,  came  staggering  towards  him.  "  Don't  kill  him, 
Marcus — I'll  give  it  up — you  see  how  it  is,  sir" — he  stam 
mered,  catching  hold  of  the  back  of  a  chair  for  support.  Mar 
cus  still  stood,  moveless  as  a  statue,  his  eye  fixed,  his  weapon, 
pointed  at  the  breast  of  the  man. 

"  Oh,  blessed  young  master  !"  cried  Milly,  fully  believing 
he  had  turned  into  something  more  than  human;  "you 
mustn't  commit  murder  to  save  a  poor  creature  like  me.  I 
wouldn't  have  a  drop  of  blood  spilled  on  your  white  soul,  to 


46  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

save  myself  from  pardition.  Let  him  take  me,  an  he  will ; 
but  I  vow  'fore  my  heavenly  Master,  I'll  never  eat  nor  drink  one 
morsel  more  as  long  as  I  live,  but  jist  starve  out  and  out; 
and  I  give  him  joy  for  the  work  he'll  git  out  o'  me." 

"  Put  up  your  gun,  young  bloodhound,"  said  the  man,  who 
had  visibly  turned  pale,  under  the  shade  of  his  shaggy  brows, 
"  and  keep  your  old  nigger,  if  you  want  her.  The  next  time 
I  make  a  bargain  with  a  drunken  man,  I'll  know  what  I'm 
about.  Look  here,  sir,  you  had  better  take  care  of  yourself. 
If  you  ever  make  such  a  fool  of  me  again — do  you  hear  ? — I'll 
blow  your  brains  out." 

With  long  strides  and  muttering  threats  he  cleared  the 
cabin,  slamming  the  door  after  him,  so  that  every  plank  of  the 
floor  vibrated  from  the  concussion.  There  was  silence  for  a 
few  moments,  first  broken  by  the  loud  sobs  of  Milly,  mingled 
with  the  gentler  moans  of  the  almost  heart-broken  little  Katy. 
Marcus  went  to  the  door,  and,  stepping  out,  shot  off  the  rifle 
in  the  air.  The  echoes  went  rattling  across  the  river,  and  fell 
like  rocks  on  the  opposite  side. 

"  What  did  you  do  that  for  ?"  asked  his  father,  sullenly, 
"  haven't  you  made  noise  enough  yet  ?" 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  did  it  for,"  answered  the  boy,  with  a 
face  as  pallid  as  marble,  and  an  eye  glittering  like  steel.  "  I 
was  afraid  I  should  kill  you,  father,  and  myself  too ;  yes,  I 
was.  I  never  felt  as  I  did  just  now.  Feel  my  hands,  Aunt 
Milly ;  are  they  not  cold  as  ice  ?  and  yet  I  seem  turned  to  fire. 
I  wish  we  were  all  dead,  Katy  and  Aunt  Milly,  and  I  too. 
You  may  live,  if  you  want  to,  father,  for  you  ought  to  be 
afraid  to  die.  You  have  broken  your  promise  to  Mr.  Bellamy; 
you  have  broken  your  promise  to  my  dead  mother ;  you  have 
broken  your  promise  to  God ;  yes,  you  ought  to  be  afraid  to  die." 

Here  Marcus,  who  was  excited  to  a  transient  delirium  by 
the  events  of  the  evening,  pressed  his  hands  on  his  forehead 
and  uttered  a  cry  of  pain.  Aunt  Milly  caught  him  in  her 
arms,  and  as  she  did  so  the  soft  cheek  of  little  Katy  pressed 
against  his  own.  That  gentle,  velvet  pressure  seemed  to  melt 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  47 

the  metallic  band  that  was  bound  round  his  brain.  He  put 
his  arms  round  these  beloved  friends,  all  he  had  in  the  world, 
and  burst  into  tears.  The  image  of  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Bel 
lamy  rose  before  him,  even  in  that  dark  moment,  but  she 
seemed  a  star  shining  in  a  lone  and  distant  glory,  too  far  for 
him  to  feel  its  lustre.  His  father  had  fallen  lower  than  ever, 
and  there  was  a  barrier  shutting  him  from  all  the  good  and 
pure.  In  the  sudden  destruction  of  his  long  cherished  hopes, 
he  felt  as  if  he  were  himself  annihilated,  and  all  his  bright 
future  blackened  and  laid  waste. 

"  Yes,"  repeated  he,  as  he  pressed  his  little  sister  closer  and 
closer  to  his  aching  bosom,  "  it  would  be  better  that  we  were 
dead  and  laid  in  our  mother's  grave,  than  live  such  a  life  of 
shame  and  sorrow  as  lies  before  us." 


CHAPTER  III. 

"The  water!  the  water! 

Where  I  have  shed  salt  tears ; 
In  loneliness  and  friendliness, 

A  thing  of  tender  years. 
The  water  !  the  water  ! 

How  bless'd  to  me  thou  art, 
Thus  sounding  in  life's  solitude 

The  music  of  my  heart, 
And  filling  it,  despite  of  sadness, 
With  dreamings  of  departed  gladness." 

MOTHERWELL. 

MARCUS  sat  beside  the  Long  Moss  Spring,  the  morning  sun 
beams  glancing  through  the  broad  leaves  of  the  magnolia  and 
the  brilliant  foliage  of  the  holly,  and  playing  on  his  golden 
hair.  He  held  in  his  hand  a  fishing-rod,  whose  long  lino 
floated  on  the  water ;  and  though  his  eye  was  fixed  on  the 
buoyant  cork,  there  was  no  hope  or  excitement  in  its  gaze.  Hia 
face  was  pale,  and  wore  a  severe  expression,  very  different  from 
the  usual  joyousness  and  thoughtlessness  of  childhood.  Even 
when  the  silvery  trout  and  shining  perch,  lured  by  the  bait, 
hung  quivering  on  the  hook,  and  wero  thrown,  fluttering  liko 


48  MARCUS   WARLAND;    OR, 

wounded  birds  through  the  air,  to  fall  panting,  then  pulseless, 
at  his  side,  he  showed  no  consciousness  of  success,  no  elation 
at  the  number  of  his  scaly  victims.  Tears,  even  large  and 
slowly  gathering  tears,  rolled  gradually  and  reluctantly  down 
his  fair  oval  cheeks;  they  were  not  like  the  sudden,  drenching 
shower,  that  leaves  the  air  purer  and  the  sky  bluer,  but  the 
drops  that  issue  from  the  wounded  bark  formed  of  the  life- 
biood  of  the  tree. 

Beautiful  was  the  spot  where  the  boy  sat,  and  beautiful  the 
vernal  morning  that  awakened  Nature  to  the  joy  and  the 
beauty  of  youth.  The  fountain,  over  whose  basin  he  was  lean 
ing,  was  one  of  those  clear,  deep,  pellucid  springs,  that  gush 
up  in  the  green  wilds  of  southern  Georgia,  forming  a  feature 
of  such  exquisite  loveliness  in  the  landscape,  that  the  traveller 
pauses  on  the  margin,  feeling  as  if  he  had  found  one  of  those 
enchanted  springs  of  which  we  read  in  fairy  land,  whose  waters 
are  too  bright,  too  pure,  too  serene  for  earth. 

The  stone  which  formed  the  basin  of  the  fountain  was 
smooth  and  calcareous,  hollowed  out  by  the  friction  of  the 
waters,  and  gleaming  white  and  cold  through  their  diaphanous 
drapery.  In  the  centre  of  this  basin,  where  the  spring  gushed 
in  all  its  depth  and  strength,  it  was  so  dark  it  looked  like  an 
opaque  body,  impervious  to  the  eye,  whence  it  flowed  over  the 
edge  of  its  rocky  receptacle  in  a  full,  rejoicing  current,  sweep 
ing  over  its  mossy  bed,  and  bearing  its  sounding  tribute  to  the 
Chattahocchee,  "  rolling  rapidly."  The  mossy  bed  to  which 
we  have  alluded  was  not  the  verdant  velvet  that  covers  with 
a  short,  curling  nap,  the  ancient  rock  and  the  gray  old  tree, 
but  long,  slender,  emerald-green  plumes,  waving  under  the 
water,  and  assuming  through  its  mirror  a  tinge  of  deep  and 
irradiant  blue.  Nothing  can  be  imagined  more  rich  and 
graceful  than  this  carpet  for  the  fountain's  silvery  tread,  and 
which  seems  to  bend  beneath  it,  as  the  light  spray  rustling 
in  the  breeze.  The  golden  water-lily  gleamed  up  through 
the  crystal,  and  floated  along  the  margin  on  its  long  and  undu 
lating  stems 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  49 

This  was  the  favourite  haunt  of  Marcus,  and  he  had  bap 
tized  it  by  the  name  of  the  Long  Moss  Spring.  It  was  here 
he  had  often  indulged  in  his  dreams  of  ambition,  and  it  was 
here  he  now  yielded  to  the  deadenfng  influences  of  despair. 
The  despair  of  a  child  caused  by  a  father's  shame  and  perjury 
is  enough  to  make  angels  weep. 

"  Marcus !"  said  a  hoarse  voice  near  him.  He  turned 
round,  and  beheld  his  father,  whose  wild  and  haggard  coun 
tenance  looked  at  him  through  the  leafy  curtain  of  the  fount 
ain.  "Marcus !"  repeated  he,  pushing  aside  the  boughs,  and 
coming  and  sitting  down  on  the  rock  by  his  side ;  "  will  you 
let  me  sit  by  you  a  few  moments  ?  I  have  something  I  wish 
to  say  to  you,  and  this  place  is  so  tranquil — so  sweet  I" 

"Will  I  let  you,  father?  Oh,  don't  speak  to  me  in  that 
way." 

"  I  have  no  right  to  force  my  polluted  presence  on  you,  my 
son.  After  what  passed  last  night,  I  cannot  blame  you  if  you 
refuse  to  own  such  a  wretch  as  your  father.  I  little  thought, 
yesterday  morning,  when  I  left  you  with  such  presumptuous 
confidence,  I  should  return  like  the  swine,  to  its  wallow  in 
the  mire.  The  man  who  accompanied  me  home  must  have 
known  my  besetting  weakness,  for  he  tempted  me  sorely  be 
fore  I  yielded,  and  then  taking  advantage  of  my  condition, 
induced  me  to  make  the  bargain  with  him  which  perjured  my 
soul,  and  severed  the  last  link  that  binds  my  children  to  me. 
Marcus,  you  told  me  last  night  you  was  afraid  you  would  kill  me." 

"  Oh  !  father,  don't  recall  those  dreadful  words — I  was 
distracted — I  didn't  know  what  I  said.  Forgive  me,  father; 
I  never  can  forgive  myself." 

"No,  Marcus,  reproach  not  yourself.  Those  words,  and 
some  others  you  uttered,  may  prove  my  salvation  yet.  I  can 
not  hope  that  you  will  rely  on  my  promises  of  reformation ; 
but  I  never  have  felt  as  I  have  since  I  saw  you  and  little 
Katy  weeping  on  each  other's  necks,  in  the  arms  of  that 
faithful  negro,  of  whose  care  I  was  about  to  deprive  you. 
Your  words  pierced  ine  to  the  heart's  core.  The  fumes  of 
55 


50  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

inebriation  dispersed,  and  I  loathed  myself  in  dust  and  ashes 
All  the  livelong  night  I  have  been  upon  my  knees,  on  thia 
very  rock,  praying  for  help  from  on  high.  I  make  no  more  self- 
righteous  boasts.  I  throw  myself  on  the  mercy  of  God,  in  the 
humble  hope  that  He  will  not  cast  me  off.  '  Though  our  sins 
be  as  scarlet,  they  may  be  made  white  as  wool.'  Alas ! 
mine  would  the  pure  waters  of  this  fountain  incarnadine, 
dyeing  them  with  the  hue  of  blood." 

"  Father,  I  wish  last  night  were  blotted  from  existence.  I 
feel  as  if  I  should  never  be  happy  again." 

"  Strange,  that  hope  should  spring  from  the  very  ashes  of 
despair.  But  it  is  even  so,  my  son.  Lost,  degraded  as  I  am, 
unworthy  to  hold  fellowship  with  my  innocent  children,  or 
even  with  the  dark  African  of  a  whiter  soul,  I  feel  a  vitality 
that  I  thought  annihilated  before.  It  seems  as  if  I  had  heard 
a  revelation  from  heaven,  making  known  to  me  that  you,  my 
son,  were  to  lead  me  back  to  virtue  and  to  peace.  It  came  to 
me  when  I  was  grovelling  on  my  knees  at  midnight.  It  grew 
clearer  at  breaking  day.  Just  now,  a  voice  seemed  to  sound 
in  my  ear,  like  a  voice  from  heaven,  'Arise  and  go  to  thy  son. 
Thy  son  on  earth  shall  yet  lead  thee  to  thy  Father  in  heaven.'  " 

"  Oh,  father !"  exclaimed  Marcus.  It  was  all  he  could 
utter,  but  he  took  his  hand  and  pressed  it  in  both  his  own, 
and  they  thus  sat  mutely  together,  looking  down  into  the  dark 
heart  of  the  fountain  whence  the  silver  rills  were  gushing. 
These  waters  were  an  emblem  of  regeneration.  Marcus,  with 
the  transilient  spirit  of  youth,  bounded  from  despair  to  hope, 
and  the  whole  aspect  of  nature  was  changed.  The  thought 
of  his  lovely  benefactress  came  like  a  rainbow  of  promise, 
spanning  the  spray  of  the  fountain,  and  reminding  him  of  the 
covenant  he  had  made  with  his  own  soul,  when  she  bade  him 
farewell.  It  inspired  him  to  make  a  new  covenant,  that  he 
would  fulfil  the  glorious  mission  Heaven  had  committed  into 
Lis  hands,  of  reclaiming  his  father  j  and  if  it  required  the  filial 
devotion  of  his  whole  life,  he  would  no  think  it  too  dear  a 
price  to  pay  for  such  a  blessing.  He  had  previously  been 


THE   LONQ   MOSS   SPRING.  51 

incited  by  the  desire  of  lifting  himself  frora  obscurity  and  pover 
ty,  of  providing  for  his  little  sister  the  means  of  education ;  but 
now  a  higher,  holier  motive  was  added  to  these.  He  had  been 
looking  forward  to  the  struggle  of  life  as  one  who  was  to  go 
on  unaided  and  alone,  stemming  a  counter-current,  that 
threatened  to  sweep  away  in  its  stronger  tide  the  frail  bark  of 
his  hopes.  Now,  he  must  turn  that  strong,  dark  current  in  a 
different  direction ;  he  must  make  it  flow  along  with  the  pure, 
rippling  stream  on  which  he  himself  was  borne;  he  must 
purify  and  gild  it,  by  mingling  the  once  opposing  waves.  He 
upbraided  himself  for  ever  looking  on  his  father  with  loathing 
and  scorn,  when  under  the  influence  of  his  fatal  passion ;  for 
the  lofty  tone  he  had  often  assumed,  when  entreaties  and  sup 
plications  had  been  in  vain.  He  would  henceforth  regard 
him  in  sorrow,  rather  than  indignation,  and  by  treating  him 
with  constant  deference  and  tenderness,  restore  him  to  his  own 
self-respect.  Conforming  to  these  noble  resolutions,  he 
induced  him  to  accompany  him  in  all  his  hunting  and  fishing 
expeditions,  never  leaving  him  for  his  own  amusement,  but 
convincing  him  that  his  fellowship  was  indispensable  for  his 
enjoyment. 

As  the  resisting  tree,  shaken  by  the  whirlwind,  but  not 
uprooted,  only  clings  more  firmly  to  its  native  soil,  Aunt 
Milly  was  more  deeply  implanted  in  the  affections  and  inte 
rests  of  the  household  since  the  night  of  her  threatened 
removal.  It  cannot  be  said  that  Aunt  Milly  forgot  the  ingra 
titude  of  her  master  to  her  fidelity,  or  his  perjury  to  her 
departed  mistress ;  but  her  overmastering  love  for  the  chil 
dren  enabled  her  to  forgive  the  wrongs  inflicted  by  the  father; 
and  she  knew,  too,  that  her  duty  as  a  Christian  required  her 
to  return  good  for  evil.  While  injuries  remain  cut  in,  deep  as 
life,  on  the  heart  of  the  red  child  of  the  wilderness,  they  are 
traced  on  the  surface  of  the  African's,  and  may  be  effaced  by 
the  breath  of  kindness. 

"  Do  not  be  angry  with  my  poor  father,  Aunt  Milly,"  said 
Marcus,  with  his  sweet,  persuading  voice ;  "  he  was  tempted 


52  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

by  that  evil  man.  He  was  no  more  himself  at  the  time  than 
if  he  were  crazy,  /was  crazy  myself  for  a  few  moments,  and 
knew  not  what  I  was  doing." 

"Oh!  young  master,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you — Lord  a 
marcy — if  I  live  to  the  age  of  Methusah,  I  never  shall  forget 
it ;  you  warnt  a  boy  then,  you  was  a  sperrit ;  you  were  super- 
nateral.  It  was  a  maracle,  and  nothing  else ;  Simon  says  so ; 
and  he  says  the  man  couldn't  hurt  you,  nohow  he  could  fix 
it,  any  more  than  Daniel  could  the  fiery  children." 

"  Daniel  was  a  prophet,  and  a  good  man,  Aunt  Milly.  He 
was  the  one  that  was  cast  in  the  lion's  den,  and  whom  the 
Lord  defended  from  their  fury." 

"  That' s  j  ust  what  I  meant,  exactly.  I  does  mistake  sometimes, 
but  I  means  right ;  I  does  mean  to  put  burning  coals  on  ole 
master's  head,  for  the  preacher  says  it's  our  duty  to  do  it." 

"  What  do  you  understand  by  that,  Aunt  Milly?  You  don't 
believe,  I  hope,  that  you  ought  to  take  live  coals  from  the 
chimney,  and  pour  them  on  your  master's  head." 

"No,  Master  Marcus;  I  know  better  than  all  that.  It 
means  to  sarve  one  good;  when  they  do  you  bad,  to  speak 
pleasant  and  'cifical;  when  they  are  cross  and  contrary,  and 
when  they  strike  you  on  one  side,  to  turn  right  round  and  let 
'em  strike  t'other;  that's  what  it  means.  And  I  knows,  if 
I've  injured  anybody,  and  they  does  so  to  me,  I  feels  as  bad  as 
if  burning  coals  was  sticking  to  the  top  of  my  head." 

One  evening,  they  were  sitting  under  a  little  stoup  in  front 
of  the  cabin,  at  that  twilight  hour  when  the  labours  of  the  day 
are  over,  but  the  exercises  of  the  evening  not  yet  commenced, 
• — that  hour  of  sweet  tranquillity  and  rest.  The  river  rolled 
before  them,  reflecting  in  its  sparkling  waters  the  gorgeous 
tints  of  departing  day ;  the  crimson  shading  off  into  a  deepen 
ing  orange,  the  orange  melting  into  flakes  of  glittering  silver. 
Lazily  the  old  ferry-boat  lay  against  the  bank,  the  long  poles 
thrown  across  the  wet  planks,  and  a  red  handkerchief  of  Milly's 
fastened  to  the  lantern-post,  fluttering  like  a  banner  in  the 
breeze.  It  was  a  device  of  Marcus,  who  had  been  giving  a 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  53 

pleasure  trip  to  Milly  and  Katy,  and  who  had  converted  the 
red  turban  of  the  former  into  a  flag  of  triumph. 

Marcus  looked  at  his  father,  and  exulted  to  see  that  the  va 
cant  and  haggard  aspect  of  inebriation  had  given  place  to  a 
calm  and  intelligent  expression.  His  complexion  was  clear  of 
that  purple  hue  with  which  the  god  of  the  grape  marks  the 
face  of  his  votaries.  He  was  dressed  with  neatness  and  respect 
ability,  for  Milly  always  took  great  care  of  her  master's  per 
son  ;  and  one  of  her  greatest  sorrows,  during  his  fits  of  intoxi 
cation,  was  the  personal  neglect  they  induced.  The  soiled 
linen,  the  unshaven  beard,  and  matted  locks  were  sore  afflictions 
to  her  pride,  for  she  said,  "  If  a  man  was  born  a  gentleman, 
and  likely  looking  besides,  it  was  a  crying  sin  to  make  him 
self  into  a  live  brute." 

A  gentleman  was  seen  winding  through  the  path  that 
skirted  the  river's  edge.  He  was  mounted  on  horseback,  and 
rode  leisurely  along,  looking  earnestly  on  the  family  trio. 

"It  is  Mr.  Bellamy!"  exclaimed  Marcus,  leaping  from  the 
steps  to  the  ground.  Katy  flew  after  him,  and  Warland,  walk 
ing  with  slow  steps,  went  forward  to  greet  the  friend  who  thua 
proved  himself  true  to  his  promise.  Had  lie  been  true  ?  This 
self-interrogation  brought  a  blush  of  shame  to  his  cheek,  as  he 
felt  the  cordial  grasp  of  Mr.  Bellamy's  hand,  but  he  did  not 
shrink  from  his  kindly-beaming  glance,  for  he  resolved  to  tell 
him  of  his  shameful  lapse,  even  at  the  risk  of  forfeiting  all  his 
good-will.  Mr.  Bellamy  seemed  gratified  at  his  reception  and 
at  the  appearance  of  family  comfort  that  met  his  eye.  Ho 
pressed  the  hand  of  Marcus  with  parental  kindness,  and  taking 
the  smiling,  blushing  Katy  in  his  arms,  bore  her  in  triumph 
to  the  cabin.  Milly  came  to  the  door  of  the  kitchen,  dropping 
low  and  emphatic  curtsies,  and  Uncle  Simon  hobbled  out  to 
take  care  of  his  horse. 

"  Well,  my  friend,"  said  he,  sitting  down  on  the  wooden 
bench  in  the  stoup,  "  the  world  seems  to  have  gone  better  with 
you  since  I  saw  you  last.  I  am  glad  my  little  friends  here 
have  not  forgotten  me,  for  I  have  often  thought  of  them." 


54  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

"Forgotten!"  repeated  Marcus;  "how  could  we  forget 
friends  so  kind  as  you  and  Mrs.  Bellamy  ?" 

"  Why  didn't  she  come  too  ?"  whispered  Katy. 

"  She  could  not  leave  home  just  now;  but  you  shall  see  her 
one  of  these  days.  She  put  some  presents  in  my  valise  for 
you  and  Marcus,  which  I  will  show  you  presently." 

Katy  was  burning  with  impatience  to  know  what  the  rich 
and  beautiful  lady  had  sent  her ;  but  Marcus,  grateful  to  be 
remembered  in  any  way,  scarcely  cared  to  know  in  what  man 
ner.  A  withered  leaf  sent  to  him  by  her  hand  would  be  che 
rished  as  a  sacred  relic;  still  when  Mr.  Bellamy  opened  his 
valise  and  displayed  the  elegant  books  his  wife  had  deposited 
there  for  Marcus,  and  the  nice  frocks  for  Katy,  he  felt  a  glow 
of  gratitude  and  delight  words  would  have  vainly  endeavoured 
to  express.  A  dress  for  Aunt  Milly  and  a  gorgeous  handker 
chief  for  her  head  were  hailed  with  equal  enthusiasm. 

After  supper,  at  which  Milly  flourished  with  more  than 
her  usual  aristocracy,  for  she  had  a  splendid  dish  of  fish  to  set 
before  him,  besides  fried  eggs  and  bacon,  when  the  pipes  were 
lighted  and  the  blue  smoke  began  to  give  an  Indian  summer 
atmosphere  to  the  cabin,  Mr.  Bellamy  reverted  to  the  conver 
sation  he  had  had  six  months  before,  and  asked  Warland  if  he 
remembered  it.  Marcus,  believing  that  his  father  would  pre 
fer  the  absence  of  the  children,  took  Katy's  hand,  who  still 
hugged  her  presents  to  her  bosom,  and  carrying  his  books  in 
his  arms,  went  to  the  kitchen,  where  he  exhibited  the  beauti 
ful  engravings  they  contained  to  the  wondering  and  enraptured 
eyes  of  Milly  and  Simon.  Warland  did  not  deceive  Mr.  Bel 
lamy  ;  he  related  the  scene  so  disgraceful  to  himself,  so  honour 
able  to  his  son,  which  has  already  been  recorded,  and  the 
thorough  change  he  believed  wrought  within  himself  in  conse 
quence  of  his  boy's  conduct. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Bellamy,  you  see  before  you  a  fallen  man,  utterly 
unworthy  of  your  confidence  ;  still  so  dreadful  was  the  shock 
I  received  that  night,  so  terrible  the  revulsion  of  my  feelings, 
I  have  since  loathed  the  very  idea  of  drink ;  I  think  I  could 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  55 

s*v  it  without  being  tempted,  but  I  may  be  deceived.  I  do 
nov  isk  any  favour  for  myself — I  ought  not  to  receive  any — 
but  for  my  children.  Sir,  any  thing  you  could  do  for  them 
wouid  be  a  blessing  worthy  of  eternal  gratitude.  My  boy  is 
a  noble  child;  he  was  born  for  something  better  than  the 
miserable  destiny  to  which  I  have  doomed  him." 

"You  judge  too  hardly  of  yourself.  I  am  encouraged  and 
strengthened  in  all  my  hopes  with  regard  to  you.  One  lapse, 
so  sincerely  repented  of,  is  less  than  I  dared  to  expect.  No, 
no,  Warland,  I  am  not  going  to  give  you  up  so  readily ;  your 
countenance  is  the  seal  of  your  reformation.  I  never  saw  a 
man  improved  so  much  in  six  months;  I  scarcely  recognised 
you.  I  am  not  afraid  to  trust  you.  I  am  more  afraid  that  you 
will  reject  the  situation  I  am  about  to  offer,  as  beneath  your 
merits  and  ambition." 

Warland  turned  an  inquiring  glance  upon  his  friend — 
"  There  is  no  situation  that  you  would  offer  me  that  I  should 
consider  too  low  for  acceptance,  if  it  brought  my  children 
within  the  pale  of  civilized  life." 

"I  have  a  large  plantation,"  said  Mr.  Bellamy,  "and  a 
great  number  of  negroes,  that  require  superintendence  in  their 
labour.  I  have  always  found  it  difficult  to  obtain  an  overseer 
qualified  for  the  office — one  who  can  combine  the  suaviter  in 
modo  with  the  fortiter  in  re.  The  one  whom  I  now  employ 
will  be  dismissed  in  a  short  time.  Will  you  supply  his  place  ? 
You  can  bring  your  talents  and  education  to  bear  upon  the 
office ;  for  the  slaves  do  homage  to  mind,  and  know,  as  if  by 
intuition,  the  man  whom  knowledge  has  enlightened  and 
polished,  from  the  unlettered  boor.  You  shall  have  a  salary 
sufficient  for  the  support  of  your  family.  Marcus  I  intend  to 
send  immediately  to  school;  and  my  wife,  who  has  been  en 
treating  me  to  adopt  a  little  girl,  will  take  little  Katy  under 
her  own  immediate  charge.  I  wish  I  could  offer  you  a  situa 
tion  more  congenial,  but  I  think  it  better  than  the  one  you 
now  occupy.  It  is  rather  as  an  assistant  overseer  I  want  to 
engage  you,  for  I  devote  a  great  deal  of  my  own  time  to  super- 


56  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

intending  my  plantation,  and  watching  over  the  interests  of 
my  slaves." 

"  Most  gladly,  most  gratefully  would  I  accept  the  proposi 
tion,"  replied  Warland,  deeply  sensible  of  the  kindness  of 
his  new  friend,  "  could  I  believe  myself  qualified  for  its  duties ; 
but  ought  I,  who  have  so  lately  manifested  such  a  melancholy 
instance  of  the  want  of  self-government,  assume  the  control  of 
others  ?  Ought  I  to  take  advantage  of  your  benevolence,  and 
perhaps  expose  you  to  disappointment  and  loss  ?" 

"  I  am  willing  to  expose  myself  to  all  the  risk ;  but  you 
must  not  give  me  more  credit  than  is  due.  Mrs.  Bellamy  has 
been  a  quickening  spirit  to  me,  and  planned  the  whole,  leav 
ing  me  nothing  but  a  willing  cooperation  in  her  designs. 
Your  boy  has  perfectly  bewitched  her.  She  looks  upon  him 
as  a  young  eaglet,  whose  yet  unfledged  wings  will  one  day 
bear  him  to  a  sunbright  eyrie.  I  think  myself  he  was  born 
for  distinction,  and  that  he  will  attain  it.  Will  you  lay  the 
first  stepping-stone  for  him  ?" 

"  I  cannot  refuse.  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  deserve  your  con 
fidence.  The  time  has  been  when  such  an  offer  would  have 
been  considered  by  me  an  unpardonable  insult;  now,  I  feel 
ennobled  by  it.  Let  me  call  my  son,  and  communicate  to  him 
his  brightening  prospects." 

Marcus,  while  he  felt  the  most  intense  gratitude  to  Mr. 
Bellamy,  could  not  help  shrinking  from  the  idea  of  his  fa 
ther's  becoming  an  overseer.  He  had  been  thinking  so  long 
of  seeing  him  reinstated  in  his  former  standing  in  society  as  a 
gentleman  and  a  scholar,  that  any  position  short  of  that 
seemed  inferior  to  his  merits,  and  below  his  ambition.  Mr. 
Bellamy  read  all  this  in  the  boy's  expressive  countenance, 
and  he  liked  him  better  for  his  noble  pride. 

"  Your  father  will  be  my  friend,  my  boy,"  said  he.  "  I 
mean  he  shall  dignify  his  office,  and  raise  it  to  a  higher  stand 
than  it  usually  occupies ;  and  I  consider  it  only  a  preparatory 
step  to  his  future  advancement.  Had  I  made  him  a  gratuitous 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  57 

proposition,  he  would  have  rejected  it  at  once.     I  could  think 
of  nothing  better  than  this  at  present." 

"  Do  not  think  me  ungrateful,  sir/'  said  Marcus ;  "  we 
cannot  fail  to  be  happy  near  you  and  Mrs.  Bellamy.  It 
ought  to  be  the  business  of  our  whole  lives  to  endeavour  to 
repay  your  kindness.  "Words  can  never  do  it,  I  know;  but 
I  hope  some  day  my  actions  can  speak  my  heart." 

The  boy  spoke  with  an  earnest  grace  and  a  kindling  blush. 
Every  strong  emotion  sent  a  glowing  herald  to  his  cheek,  and 
a  radiant  messenger  to  his  eye,  bearing  witness  to  its  reality 
and  truth. 

When  Milly  learned,  through  Marcus,  the  change  in  his 
father's  situation,  her  family  pride  was  at  first  wounded ;  for 
if  there  is  any  thing  an  African  despises,  it  is  a  common  over 
seer.  But  when  she  heard  that  little  Katy  was  to  be  taken 
into  the  household  of  that  "sweet  Mrs.  Bellamy,"  and  that 
she  herself  was  to  go  with  her  and  take  care  of  her;  that 
master  Marcus  was  to  be  sent  to  a  fine  school,  where  he  would 
prepare  for  college,  and  associate  with  gentlemen's  sons,  she 
was  in  a  fever  of  joyful  excitement.  She  had  arrayed  little 
Katy  in  one  of  the  pretty  frocks  Mrs.  Bellamy  had  sent  her,  and 
it  so  adorned  the  child,  that,  seeing  herself  in  the  mirror  of  Aunt 
Milly's  admiring  eyes,  she  blushed  at  her  own  loveliness. 

"  Katy  will  be  a  lady,  and  ride  in  a  fine  carriage,"  said 
Milly,  turning  her  round  and  round,  and  smoothing  down  the 
folds  of  her  short,  redundant  skirt ;  "  she  no  wear  homespun 
no  more ;  she  live  among  the  quality  folks." 

"  Katy  will  be  a  good  girl,"  said  Marcus,  putting  his  arms 
round  the  beautiful  child;  "and  she  will  love  the  de?,r  lady 
who  is  so  good  to  us  all.  She  will  not  be  vain,  nor  proud, 
because  she  may  wear  a  finer  dress,  for  that  would  spoil  all 
her  sweetness." 

"  Jist  hear  him,"  said  Milly,  giving  Simon  a  punch  in  hiis 
side ;  "  he  allos  sets  everybody  right,  and  make  'em  feel 
'shamed.  He  born  for  a  preacher." 

Simon  answered  not,  for  his  heart  was  full.     The  thonght 


58  MAKCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

of  being  parted  from  his  friend  filled  him  with  unutterable 
sorrow;  and  when  the  children  saw  his  dark,  wrinkled  cheeks 
irrigated  with  tears,  sympathizing  drops  filled  their  before  glad 
eyes.  Aunt  Milly  began  to  rock,  like  a  storm-blown  tree. 

11  She'd  never  thought  about  it.  What  would  they  do 
without  Simon,  and  what  would  Simon  do  without  them? 
Poor  ole  Simon  !  Poor  ole  Milly  !" 

This  was  really  a  dark  cloud  to  their  new-born  happiness. 
They  all  loved  the  old  soldier,  as  they  called  him,  and 
mourned  to  think  they  must  leave  him  behind. 

Milly  promised  to  write  to  him  by  proxy ;  Marcus  to  come 
and  see  him  as  soon  as  possible ;  and  Katy  never  to  leave  him 
at  all.  Still  poor  Simon  eat  with  his  head  bowed  on  his 
hands,  his  breast  heaving  with  stifled  sobs.  "  He  spoke  not, 
for  his  grief  was  very  great." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  It  was  permitted  in  my  pilgrimage 
To  rest  beside  the  fount  beneath  the  tree, 
Beholding  there  no  vision,  but  a  maid 
Whose  form  was  light  and  graceful  as  the  palm, 
Whose  heart  was  pure  and  jocund  as  the  fount, 
And  spread  a  freshness  and  a  verdure  round." — TAYLOR. 

No  fairer,  richer  picture  of  southern  life  could  be  drawn 
than  from  the  plantation  of  Mr.  Bellamy.  Far  as  the  eye 
could  reach,  his  magnificent  cotton  and  corn  fields  rolled  in 
snowy  opulence,  or  waved  in  golden  splendour  in  the  undulat 
ing  gale.  The  house  was  situated  on  a  gradual  eminence, 
which  was  crowned  with  a  beautiful  grove  of  young  hickories, 
and  was  in  consequence  known  by  the  name  of  Hickory  Hill. 
It  was  also  called  Bellamy  Place  by  those  familiar  with  the 
name  of  its  munificent  master.  Occupying  so  commanding  a 
site,  with  its  broad,  spreading  wings,  and  lofty  piazza  that 
extended  the  whole  length  of  the  building,  it  was  a  kind  of 
landmark  to  the  traveller  who  might  be  journeying  through 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  59 

the  pine  woods  that  girdled  the  boundaries  of  his  domain.  At 
night,  when  its  myriad  windows  reflected  the  hospitable  radiance 
glowing  within,  and  the  pine  torches  blazed  from  the  tall  posts 
without,  it  resembled  a  light-house,  flashing  its  beacon  lustre 
on  the  eye  of  the  stranger,  perchance  in  danger  of  being  lost 
in  that  unknown  sea  of  verdure.  On  each  side  of  the  mansion- 
house  a  long  row  of  neat,  white  cabins,  individualized  by  some 
favourite  tree,  or  vine,  or  plant,  showed  that  the  master,  who 
had  so  amply  provided  for  his  own  comfort,  had  not  forgotten 
the  accommodation  of  his  slaves.  Behind  each  of  these  cabins 
was  a  small  garden,  belonging  to  the  negro  who  occupied  it, 
which  was  as  much  his  exclusive  property  as  the  fields  he  as 
sisted  to  cultivate  were  his  master's.  They  all  had  time  allowed 
them  to  till  these  peculiar  lots,  as  the  luxuriant  melon  vines 
and  flourishing  vegetables  indicated,  and  every  Saturday  after 
noon  they  carried  their  produce  to  market,  as  well  as  the  poul 
try  and  eggs  they  themselves  had  raised.  It  is  true,  they 
were  slaves,  but  their  chains  never  clanked.  Each  separate 
link  was  kept  moist  and  bright  with  the  oil  of  kindness,  applied 
with  a  downy  touch.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bellamy  were  both  actuated 
by  high  and  holy  principles.  They  felt  deeply  and  seriously 
the  responsibilities  resting  upon  them.  They  were  each  the 
inheritors  of  a  large  fortune,  consisting,  as  it  usually  does  at 
the  South,  of  negro  families.  None  had  been  purchased  ex 
cept  where  marriages  had  been  formed,  and  the  wife  or  hus 
band  pleaded  in  behalf  of  their  chosen  partners,  and  Mr.  Bel 
lamy  had  never  violated  the  promise  made  to  his  dying  father, 
that  he  would  not  separate  the  families  which  had  grown  up 
around  him,  or  sell  one  accessible  to  gratitude  and  kindness. 
He  respected  the  holy  ties  of  nature,  and  believed  that  the  do 
mestic  affections  glowed  as  warmly  and  purely  in  the  dark  bosom 
of  the  African  as  the  fairer  European's.  No  severed,  bleeding 
heart  ever  accused  him  before  God  of  its  widowhood  and  de 
solation  ;  no  cry  of  maternal  anguish ;  no  sable  Rachel,  "  weep 
ing  for  her  children,"  would  rise  up  in  judgment  against  him, 
at  the  tribunal  of  sovereign  justice.  Did  all  southern  planters 


60  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

imitate  his  noble  example,  the  foulest  blot  that  darkens  tho 
page  of  slavery  would  be  effaced,  its  deepest  reproach  wiped 
away.  Those  who  batten  on  the  sale  of  human  blood  would 
be  obliged  to  stop  their  languishing  traffic,  and  resort  to  some 
more  honourable  and  Christian  occupation. 

Could  Mr.  Bellamy  have  believed  that  the  happiness  and 
best  interests  of  his  slaves  would  be  secured  by  presenting  them 
the  gift  of  freedom,  he  would  have  done  it.  But  he  felt,  that 
by  turning  hundreds  of  helpless  beings  adrift  upon  the  world, 
he  would  be  rather  exposing  them  to  want  and  temptation, 
than  administering  to  their  well-being. 

"  I  didn't  purchase  them,"  thus  reasoned  he  with  his  own 
conscience.  "I  did  not  wrest  them  from  their  native  land, 
benighted  and  degraded  as  it  is.  I  received  them  as  a  trust ;  and 
a  heavy  one  it  is.  If  I  give  them  freedom,  it  will  be  like  a  dia 
mond  crown  on  the  head  of  an  infant.  It  will  weigh  it  down, 
without  its  being  conscious  of  its  splendid  value.  No  !  though 
I  would  give  all  that  I  am  worth,  or  ever  expect  to  be  worth,  to 
be  free  from  this  moral  encumbrance,  I  cannot  shake  it  off  with 
out  doing  violence  to  my  own  sense  of  duty.  I  will  endeavour 
to  perform  the  work  appointed  by  my  great  Task-master  in  such 
a  manner,  that  when  I  am  called  to  render  up  my  account  at  the 
great  day  of  reckoning,  I  can  bare  my  heart  to  the  blazing  eye 
of  Almighty  truth,  and  say,  '  Here  am  I,  and  the  beings  in 
trusted  to  my  charge.' " 

It  was  a  lovely  summer  evening, — (in  the  South,  as  soon  as 
the  sun  has  passed  the  zenith,  the  evening  is  supposed  to 
begin,) — and  the  windows  of  Bellamy  Place  were  all  opened 
to  admit  the  balmy  air,  that  flowed  in  redolent  with  a  thousand 
perfumes  exhaled  from  the  wreathing  vines  and  flowering 
shrubs.  The  iWely  mistress  of  this  charming  spot  had  beau 
tified  it  with  all  the  wealth  of  Flora,  and  all  the  wild  garlands 
of  the  forest.  Every  thing  seemed  to  flourish  under  her  gentle 
care,  every  thing  took  root  and  grew  in  her  genial  soil.  The 
very  air  of  heaven  seemed  to  love  her,  for  it  always  stole 
in  blandly  and  fragrantly,  even  on  the  sultriest  days,  to  kiss 


THE  LONG  MOSS   SPRING.  61 

her  benign  brow.  This  sweet  evening  she  was  sitting  in  a 
crimson-covered  rocking  chair,  reading  the  pages  of  a  book, 
that  seemed  "  her  inmost  soul  to  find,"  while  a  young  girl  of 
about  fourteen  stood  by  her  side,  twisting  the  flowers  of  the 
white  jasmine  in  her  dark  and  braided  locks.  The  sweet  face 
of  Mrs.  Bellamy  had  lost  none  of  the  winning  charms  that  dis 
tinguished  her  several  years  before,  while  the  soft  glow  of 
health  now  added  to  its  attraction.  A  dress  of  thin  white 
muslin  softened  the  graceful  outlines  of  her  figure,  and  the 
flowers  with  which  youthful  taste  and  affection  had  decorated 
her  hair,  gave  even  a  juvenile  loveliness  to  her  appearance,  con 
genial  to  the  young  maiden  who  was  bending  over  her.  Katy's 
violet  eyes  had  lost  none  of  their  pensive  loveliness  of  expres 
sion,  nor  had  her  pure  white  cheek  won  one  tint  of  rose  from 
the  fragrant  and  elevated  atmosphere  she  breathed;  but  the 
bright  hue  of  her  lips  redeemed  her  face  from  the  idea  of  pal 
lidness,  and  there  were  moments  when  those  drooping  eyes, 
suddenly  lifted,  would  flash  with  gay  emotion,  and  a  rosy 
shadow  flit  over  the  lilies  of  her  cheek.  On  a  low  chair,  a 
little  removed  from  Mrs.  Bellamy,  sat  a  young  mulatto  girl, 
who,  from  her  singular  beauty  and  docility,  was  the  pet  of 
the  household.  Her  hair,  long,  black,  and  shiny  as  an  In 
dian's,  with  a  slight  inclination  to  wave,  WAS  braided  behind  in 
imitation  of  her  mistress ;  her  eyes  were  soft  and  bright  as  a 
gazelle's,  and  beneath  her  clear,  dark  cheek  the  red  blood 
glowed  with  a  vermeil  tinge.  Her  teeth,  white  and  transpa 
rent  as  alabaster,  glittered  when  she  smiled,  and  her  walk  had 
the  springy,  yet  flowing,  grace  of  the  leopard's.  Cora,  for 
such  was  the  name  of  the  beautiful  mulatto,  was  mistress  of 
the  needle,  and  had  been  brought  up  in  the  house,  under  the 
affectionate  and  watchful  eye  of  her  mistress.  Her  language, 
in  consequence  of  this,  was  free  from  the  peculiarities  of  tho 
African  dialect.  Mrs.  Bellamy  loved  Cora  as  tenderly  as  if 
no  dusky  tint  shaded  the  ruby  of  her  cheek ;  and  had  Mrs. 
Bellamy  been  an  angel  of  light,  Cora  could  not  have  wor 
shipped  her  with  more  entire  devotion. 


62  MARCUS   WARLANDJ   OR, 

"  Can  any  thing  look  sweeter  than  that  ?"  exclaimed  Katy, 
appealing  to  Cora  to  admire  the  starry  blossoms  that  gleamed 
on  the  dark  satin  of  her  mistress's  hair. 

"  Mistress  looks  sweet,  let  her  wear  what  she  will,"  replied 
Cora,  looking  up  from  her  work,  with  a  bright  smile. 

"  You  are  both  flatterers,"  said  Mrs.  Bellamy,  "and  I  know 
you  are  making  me  look  too  girlish,"  putting  her  hand  to  her 
head. 

"Oh,  please  don't/'  cried  both  voices,  "please  don't 
spoil  it." 

At  this  moment  a  rapid  step  was  heard  ascending  the  stairs; 
there  was  a  light  bound  over  the  threshold,  and  a  youth  of 
sixteen  summers  leaped  into  the  centre  of  the  room.  Waving 
his  straw-hat  in  one  hand,  while  he  pushed  back  with  the 
other  the  fair  brown  curls  from  his  moist  brow,  he  cried, — 

"  Victory,  dear  Mrs.  Bellamy !  Victory,  Katy !  I've  won 
the  prize,  the  golden  badge  of  merit,  and  I  come  to  lay  it  at 
the  feet  of  my  benefactors."  Then  bending  one  knee  with 
sportive  grace  before  Mrs.  Bellamy,  he  took  from  his  neck  a 
blue  ribbon,  from  which  was  suspended  a  golden  medal,  and 
laid  it  on  her  lap. 

"  Well  done,  Marcus,"  said  Mrs.  Bellamy,  gazing  with  pride 
and  delight  on  the  noble-looking  boy  who  thus  vindicated  her 
early  prophecy.  "I  knew  you  could  not  fail;  this  is  only  a 
foretaste  of  the  honours  that  await  you  in  a  larger  sphere." 

"I  hope  so,  madam ;  I  hope  so  for  your  sake.  I  only  cared 
to  obtain  this  because  I  thought  it  would  gratify  you.  What 
shall  I  do  with  it  ?  I  should  despise  myself  tricked  out  with 
blue  ribbons  and  trinkets.  Katy  must  wear  it  till  I  return 
from  college,  and  let  it  be  in  her  eyes  an  emblem  of  ambition. 
It  is  in  the  form  of  a  harp,  Mrs.  Bellamy,  you  see,  strung  with 
twisted  threads  of  gold.  It  will  remind  Katy  of  her  music, 
and  how  anxious  you  are  that  she  should  excel." 

Marcus  passed  the  azure  band  round  the  fair  neck  of  Katy, 
who  felt  proud  of  wearing  the  badge  of  her  brother's  excel- 
'ence.  It  was  a  prize  awarded  by  a  committee  of  gentlemen 


THE  LONG  MOSS   SPRING.  63 

for  the  "best  essay  on  a  given  subject  written  by  the  pupils  of 
a  high  school,  at  which  he  had  graduated.  He  could  have 
entered  college  two  years  previous,  but  Mr.  Bellamy  thought 
him  too  young  to  be  exposed  to  the  temptations  of  such  a  life, 
and  preferred  that  he  should  enter  in  advance,  and  thus  shorten 
the  time  of  his  collegiate  studies.  He  was  to  depart  in  a  few 
weeks  for  the  most  distinguished  university  of  the  South,  and 
should  he  bear  away  the  first  honours,  Mr.  Bellamy  promised 
to  reward  him  by  sending  him  afterward  to  one  of  the  literary 
institutions  of  the  North.  Burning  with  desire  to  prove  him 
self  worthy  of  this  munificence,  Marcus  looked  forward  to  hi3 
departure  with  the  eager  anticipations  of  youth,  and  the  distinc 
tion  he  had  just  won  seemed  only  an  earnest  of  his  future  success. 
When  supper  was  announced,  Warland  came  in  with  Mr. 
Bellamy,  and  took  his  seat  at  the  table  by  the  side  of  his 
children.  While  there  was  no  apparent  change  in  the  person 
of  the  latter,  he  looked  greatly  altered,  and  the  burden  of  many 
years  seemed  added  to  his  frame.  His  hair  was  almost  white, 
proof  of  the  terrible  warfare  he  had  sustained  with  his  bosom 
foe ;  his  complexion  was  very  pale,  and  his  upright  form  bent 
from  its  perpendicular  line ;  but  his  eye  was  clear,  and  the 
throne  of  an  unclouded  intellect.  Though  its  light  was  ofttimes 
darkened  by  the  shadows  of  memory,  never  since  his  dwelling 
with  Mr.  Bellamy  had  it  been  quenched  in  the  night  of  intem 
perance.  He  had  performed  his  duties  to  his  benefactor  with 
unerring  fidelity  and  marked  success,  and  it  was  now  as  an 
honoured  friend  and  faithful  coadjutor,  even  as  a  beloved 
brother,  that  he  remained  in  the  household  of  the  planter. 
Aunt  Milly  came  in  her  ancient  costume  of  the  white  turban 
and  stiff  white  apron,  and  stood  with  folded  hands  behind  her 
master's  chair  till  the  customary  blessing  consecrated  the 
board ;  then,  with  an  elevated  brow  and  aristocratic  mien,  she 
carried  her  gilded  waiter  back  and  forth  to  supply  the  wants 
of  her  children,  as  she  always  called  them,  and  "ole  master." 
There  was  a  peculiar  delicacy  of  kindness  in  Mrs.  Bellamy's 
giving  this  office  to  Milly,  for  her  own  servants  were  trained 


64  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

to  wait  upon  her  table,  and  did  its  honours  with  more  grace 
and  dexterity,  than  one  belonging,  like  Aunt  Milly,  to  the 
ancient  regime.  She  knew  she  would  be  happy  in  proportion 
as  she  thought  herself  useful,  and  she  had  no  desire  to  wean 
Marcus  or  Katy  from  their  allegiance  to  their  true  and  faith 
ful  nurse.  Sometimes  the  little  ebony  images  that  stood  on 
each  side  of  the  table  waving  beautiful  brushes  of  sun-eyed 
peacock's  feathers,  with  tremendous  flourishes,  would  purposely 
hit  her  lofty  turban,  but  she  never  swerved  from  her  majestic 
course,  satisfying  her  dignity  by  giving  them  a  rebuking  roll 
of  her  large  eyeballs.  The  beautiful  mulatto  girl  had  the 
post  of  honour  by  her  mistress's  chair,  and  a  tall,  handsome 
mulatto  man,  with  an  apron  of  snowy  whiteness  reaching  to 
his  knees,  and  a  waiter  under  his  arm,  held  the  same  position 
at  the  right  hand  of  his  master.  Many  a  brilliant  eye-beam 
and  glittering  smile  were  exchanged  across  the  table  by  this 
distinguished  pair.  They  were  betrothed  in  marriage,  and 
the  coming  Christmas  was  appointed  for  their  nuptials.  The 
coquettish  Cora  denied  the  truth  of  this  fact,  and  declared  it 
was  only  a  false  report,  and  that  there  was  nothing  in  the 
world  in  it ;  but  when  her  mistress  told  her  what  a  beautiful 
wedding-dress  she  was  going  to  give  her,  and  what  a  fine  sup 
per  too,  she  hung  her  head  and  laughed,  and  said  "she  shouldn't 
wonder  if  she  did  get  married." 

Cora  was  the  belle  of  the  plantation,  and  there  were  others 
besides  King,  the  handsome  mulatto,  who  contended  for  her 
smiles.  There  was  one  negro,  of  Cimmerian  blackness,  of  the 
name  of  Hannibal,  who  was  a  formidable  rival  to  the  gallant 
King ;  not  that  Cora  regarded  him  with  a  favouring  eye,  but 
he  possessed  great  muscular  power,  and  his  temper  when 
roused  was  fierce  as  the  goaded  lion's.  Mr.  Bellamy  had  more 
trouble  with  him  than  any  other  slave  on  the  plantation,  but  he 
was  at  the  same  time  one  of  his  most  valuable  men.  He  was 
nick-named  the  General,  and  honoured  his  title  by  exercising 
authority  over  his  younger  and  weaker  brethren.  He  was  at 
tached  to  his  master,  and  when  no  counter  feelings  opposed  his 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  65 

sense  of  obligation  to  him,  he  would  work  with  an  enthusiasm 
that  communicated  like  wild-fire  to  all  around  him. 

"  Push  on/'  they  would  exclaim,  "  don't  you  see  the  Gene 
ral  ahead  ?"  And  the  cotton  bolls  would  fly  thick  as  northern 
snow-flakes,  and  the  huge  baskets  heave  high  with  their 
downy  burdens. 

But  lately  Hannibal  had  been  in  a  dark  sullen  mood,  and 
neither  persuasion  nor  coercion  had  any  effect  on  his  obstinate 
resistance  of  duty.  Mr.  Bellamy,  believing  that  a  spirit  like 
his  would  spurn  at  delegated  authority,  told  Warland  when 
ever  symptoms  of  rebellion  appeared  in  the  Carthaginian 
general  to  refer  him  to  him,  and  he  usually  succeeded  by  per 
sonal  influence  in  recalling  him  to  duty  and  obedience.  Now 
smarting  from  the  pangs  of  disappointed  love,  and  maddened 
by  the  triumphant  happiness  of  his  rival,  he  broke  out  in  open 
mutiny,  and  was  placed,  by  the  orders  of  his  master,  in  soli 
tary  confinement,  till  he  had  leisure  to  reflect  on  the  best  course 
to  pursue  with  the  offending  slave.  As  soon  as  supper  was 
over  Mr.  Bellamy  was  about  to  leave  the  room,  anxious  to 
perform  his  disagreeable  task,  fearful  that  he  might  be  com 
pelled  to  have  recourse  to  the  dreaded  alternative  of  selling 
him,  and  filling  with  anguish  a  mother's  heart.  Hannibal  was 
the  only  son  of  an  aged  mother,  who  was  now  trembling  in 
her  cabin  for  the  consequences  of  his  rebellion  to  his  much- 
enduring  master. 

Mrs.  Bellamy,  who  noticed  the  clouded  brow  of  her  hus 
band,  followed  him  into  the  passage,  that  she  might  learn  the 
cause. 

"  Let  me  go  to  him,  my  husband,"  said  she ;  "  I  think  I 
have  more  influence  over  him  than  any  one  else,  and  I  know 
so  well  the  cause  of  his  present  wayward  humour.  If  love 
has  subverted  empires,  razed  cities  to  their  foundations,  and 
shaken  the  boasted  reason  of  the  white  man,  we  ought  to 
make  great  allowance  for  its  influence  on  less  enlightened  minds 
and  stronger  passions.  You  are  weary,  I  see  you  are ;  give 

me  the  lamp  and  key,  and  I  pledge  my  word,  that  Hannibal 
50 


66  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

shall  return  to  his  allegiance  on  the  morrow,  like  a  true  and 
valiant  soldier." 

"  Isabel,  this  will  never  do.  It  is  a  shame  to  impose  such 
a  task  on  you.  Indeed,  I  cannot  allow  it." 

"  But  you  must,  Mr.  Bellamy.  When  did  you  ever  refuse 
any  request  of  mine  ?  A  woman  knows  so  much  better  where 
all  the  keys  of  the  human  heart  are  placed  than  man.  Hannibal 
has  a  heart,  as  his  passionate  love  for  Cora  but  too  plainly  shows." 

Gently  but  irresistibly  she  drew  the  lamp  and  key  from 
her  husband's  hand,  and  glided  on  to  the  solitary  room,  where 
the  General  was  awaiting  the  threatened  visit  of  his  master, 
arming  himself  with  strength  to  withstand  both  the  voice  of 
reason  and  the  menaces  of  violated  authority.  The  key 
turned — a  bright  light  flashed  into  the  apartment,  and  in 
stead  of  the  kind  but  severe  countenance  he  expected  to  be 
hold,  the  sweet  face  and  white-robed  form  of  his  mistress 
beamed  upon  his  gaze.  She  stood  alone  before  the  tall, 
powerful  negro,  over  whose  raven  features  passion  had,  if  pos 
sible,  spread  a  darker  hue. 

"  Hannibal,"  said  she,  bending  on  him  her  serene  and 
serious  eyes,  "  I  am  very  sorry  to  see  you  here,  in  disgrace. 
What  have  you  been  doing  to  deserve  this  punishment  ?" 

"Nothing,  mistress,  just  nothing  at  all." 

"  Was  it  your  master,  or  Mr.  Warland,  who  had  you  con 
fined  here  ?" 

"  'Twas  master.  I  tell  you  what,  mistress,  if  it  had  been 
anybody  but  master,  I'd  a  killed  him  fust." 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me,  Hannibal,  that  your  master 
confined  you  for  nothing  ?  You  must  not  say  that  a  second 
time.  Look  me  in  the  face,  and  tell  me,  if  you  can,  that  your 
master  has  ever  been  unjust  or  unkind  to  you." 

"  It  makes  no  difference,  mistress,  who  is  kind,  as  long  as 
there  is  one  that  treats  me  like  a  dog.  It  turns  my  heart  black 
to  everybody.  I  can't  help  what  I  do,  if  they  kill  me  for  it." 

"  If  you  mean  Cora,  you  are  very  wrong,  Hannibal.  She 
is  not  to  blame  if  she  loves  another  better  than  you.  She 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  67 

cannot  help  it.  Besides,  King  paid  her  a  great  deal  of  atten 
tion,  and  tried  hard  to  win  her,  before  you  ever  said  a  word 
about  loving  her.  If  you  had  spoken  first,  very  likely  she 
would  have  liked  you  best." 

"I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  please  the  ladies,"  said  the 
African  chief,  with  a  grim  sniile;  "I  can't  put  on  airs  and 
make  believe  I'm  a  gentleman,  like  that  yellow  boy  they 
think  such  a  'Donis — all  on  'em." 

"Now,  Hannibal,  I  want  you  to  listen  to  me,"  said  the 
lady,  setting  down  her  lamp,  and  taking  a  seat  on  a  wooden 
bench ;  "  you  ought  to  have  more  sense  than  to  lose  all  your 
dignity  of  character  for  a  young  girl,  who  loved  another  be 
fore  she  knew  you  had  one  thought  of  her.  You  make  your 
self  very  unhappy;  you  set  a  bad  example  to  the  other 
negroes,  who  look  up  to  you  as  a  pattern ;  you  disturb  the 
peace  of  your  indulgent  master,  and  you  fill  with  anguish  the 
heart  of  your  mistress." 

"  I  never  thought  of  giving  pain  to  you,  mistress."  The 
tone  of  his  voice  was  softened,  and  his  head  began  to  droop 
towards  his  breast. 

"  I  have  always  treated  you  kindly.  I  have  always  tried 
to  make  you  happy.  You  know  when  you  were  sick  last 
winter,  and  laid  up  so  long,  how  we  watched  over  you,  your 
master  and  myself,  and  brought  you  back  to  health  and 
strength.  You  blessed  us  then,  and  said  you  never  would  for 
get  it  as  long  as  you  lived.  You  said  it  was  not  the  medicine 
or  the  watching  you  thanked  us  for,  for  that  might  have  been 
for  our  own  interests,  but  for  the  tears  we  shed  when  we 
thought  you  were  dying ;  that  proved  we  cared  for  you,  for 
your  own  sake.  Don't  you  remember  it  ?" 

"  Yes — that  I  do,  mistress — that  I  do — every  word  you  say 
be  true."  His  lips  began  to  quiver,  and  tears  chased  each 
other  down  his  midnight  cheeks. 

"  I  see  you  are  sorry,  Hannibal.  You  do  not  wish  your 
master  to  sell  you." 

"  The  Lord  have  mercy  on  me  ! — no,  mistress." 


68  MARCUS  WARLANDJ   OR, 

"  Well,  if  you  ever  trouble  him  again,  as  you  have  to-day, 
he  is  resolved  to  do  it.  He  will  not  allow  the  peace  of  the 
whole  plantation  to  be  disturbed  by  one,  of  whom  he  has  the 
power  to  rid  himself.  This  is  a  last  appeal.  Will  you  follow 
me  to  your  master,  and  promise  hereafter  to  curb  your  rebel 
passions,  proving  yourself  worthy  of  his  confidence  and 
esteem  ?  or  will  you  be  banished  from  the  home  where  you 
have  so  long  been  sheltered  in  kindness  and  affection  ?" 

"  Take  me  to  master — take  me  to  master,"  said  the  melted 
and  repentant  negro ;  "  let  him  punish  me  any  way  he  please 
— only  let  me  stay — best  master  and  mistress  nigger  ever  had 
in  this  world.  Pray  forgive  poor  Hannibal,  mistress — he 
never  do  so  no  more — never." 

Mrs.  Bellamy  lifted  the  lamp  and  left  the  room,  beckoning 
him  to  follow.  Looking  back  with  an  angelic  smile  upon  the 
black  shadow  rolling  behind,  she  led  the  way  to  the  sitting- 
room,  and  opening  the  door,  beckoned  her  husband  to  approach. 

"I  have  brought  you  a  penitent,"  said  she,  "one  sincerely 
convinced  of  his  error,  and  anxious  for  your  forgiveness.  I 
commend  him  to  your  mercy,  firmly  believing  this  will  be  his 
last  offence." 

Leaving  her  husband  with  the  subdued  General,  she  re 
turned  to  her  adopted  children,  rejoicing  in  the  success  of  her 
mission.  That  night,  when  she  retired  to  bed,  and  was  about 
to  drop  the  muslin  curtains  over  the  open  windows,  that  the 
night-air  might  come  in  mellowed  through  its  folds,  she  heard 
the  strains  of  a  violin  directly  beneath.  Bending  out,  she 
discerned  distinctly,  by  the  sparkling  starlight,  the  tall,  dark 
form  of  Hannibal,  thus  exercising  a  minstrel  power,  in  the 
solemn  stillness  of  the  evening.  He  was  the  Orpheus  of 
Hickory  Hill,  who,  if  he  did  not  move  the  stones  and  trees,  set 
all  the  black  feet  quivering  whenever  his  magic  bow  touched 
the  resounding  strings.  That  he  had  come  this  night,  beneath 
her  window,  to  wake  the  tones  of  his  beloved  instrument,  was  a 
touching  proof  that  the  evil  spirit  had  indeed  departed  from  him ; 
and  as  she  listened  to  the  low,  plaintive  melody,  so  different 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  69 

from  his  usual  brisk,  enlivening  measures,  a  tear  glistened  in 
her  mild  eyes. 

"  Poor  Hannibal/'  said  she,  "  I  wish  I  had  another  Cora 
for  him.  There  is  more  depth  of  feeling  and  passion  in  him 
than  the  handsome,  smiling  King.  But  she  is  not  the  first 
woman  who  has  been  charmed  by  a  showy  exterior,  nor  will 
she  be  the  last." 

Long  after  she  had  sunk  to  rest,  the  wounded  heart  of  Han 
nibal  breathed  its  sorrow  and  remorse,  in  the  sweet  com 
plaining  notes  of  his  viol,  while  the  midnight  stars  gleamed 
with  lonely  lustre  on  his  brow. 

The  time  for  the  departure  of  Marcus  drew  near.  As  he 
was  to  return  during  the  long  holidays  of  the  next  summer, 
the  separation  would  be  comparatively  short,  and  there  was 
no  cause  for  grief  at  parting.  But  Aunt  Milly  and  Katy 
wept  bitterly,  notwithstanding  the  former  imagined  a  college  a 
kind  of  Pandemonium,  where  the  Evil  Spirit  held  his  gala  days, 
and  she  tried  to  make  Marcus  promise  to  nail  a  horse-shoe  over 
his  door,  to  keep  off  the  witches.  Pie  must  never  look  at  the 
new  moon  over  his  left  shoulder,  nor  tell  his  dreams  before 
breakfast,  if  they  boded  evil.  She  gave  him  a  little  parcel, 
containing  camphor,  asafoetida,  and  the  spirits  of  turpentine, 
sewed  tightly  to  prevent  the  charm  from  escaping ;  but  as  this 
would  not  impart  a  very  agreeable  perfume  to  his  wardrobe, 
with  all  due  gratitude  for  Aunt  Milly's  kindness,  he  took  the 
liberty  of  casting  aside  the  boasted  amulet  against  disease. 
The  nice  woollen  socks  which  she  had  knit  and  Katy  marked 
were  carefully  preserved,  as  well  as  all  the  parting  tokens  of  re 
gard  presented  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bellamy.  The  latter  encircled 
his  finger  with  a  gold  ring,  sparkling  with  a  ruby  gem,  when 
she  bade  him  farewell. 

"  You  remember,"  she  said,  "  in  the  eastern  tale  you  read 
aloud  to  us  the  other  night,  the  ring  which  the  genius  Lyn- 
daric  gave  to  Amurath,  whose  warning  pressure  reminded  him, 
when  he  deviated  from  virtue  and  truth.  Let  this  golden 
circle  be  to  you  Lyndaric's  magic  ring.  You  recolleet;  when 


70  MARCUS   WARLANDJ    OR, 

the  ruby  turned  pale,  it  was  an  indication  of  the  displeasure 
of  the  genius.  If  you  are  ever  tempted  into  the  paths  of  sin, 
though  your  ruby  gem  may  retain  its  lustre,  imagine  that  my 
heart  is  fainting  from  the  disappointment  of  its  fondest  hopes; 
and  remember,  above  all,  my  dear  Marcus,  that  a  greater  than 
Lyndaric  has  placed  a  monitor  in  your  breast,  whose  warning 
voice,  if  slighted,  will  turn  to  thunder  in  your  ears." 

Marcus  kissed  the  hand  that  gave  the  ring,  with  a  heart 
too  full  for  utterance,  and  was  turning  away — 

"Not  so,  my  son/'  said  Mrs.  Bellamy,  folding  her  arms 
around  him ;  "a  mother's  fondest  blessing  rest  upon  you." 

Once  more  Marcus  felt  as  if  the  heavens  were  opened,  and  the 
spirit  of  his  departed  mother  folded  her  wings  over  his  heart. 

Mr.  Bellamy's  parting  gift  was  a  gold  watch.  "  Let  this 
teach  you  the  value  of  time,  my  boy,  so  that  you  waste  none 
of  its  diamond  sparks.  God  bless  you." 

Thus  embalmed  with  blessings,  and  crowned  with  gifts,  the 
tears  of  sweet  Katy  on  his  cheeks,  and  the  sobs  of  Aunt 
Milly  still  echoing  in  his  ears,  Marcus  left  Hickory  Hill,  with 
the  morning  sun.  He  rode  on  horseback  to  the  next  town, 
to  m$et  the  stage  that  was  to  bear  him  to  the  place  of  his 
destination.  His  father  accompanied  him  there,  and  a  negro 
followed  in  a  buggy,  bearing  his  trunk.  The  conversation  of 
the  father  and  son  was  full  of  earnest  interest.  Marcus 
thought  of  their  interview  on  the  margin  of  the  Long  Moss 
Spring,  and  pure  and  deep  as  the  gush  of  its  silvery  waters 
was  the  gratitude  that  overflowed  his  heart,  for  the  blessings 
that  had  followed  them  since  that  sad  and  clouded  hour. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  second  day's  journey,  the  stage 
stopped  at  a  blacksmith's  shop,  that  a  broken  tire  might  be 
repaired.  Marcus  was  glad  of  the  opportunity  of  giving 
freedom  to  his  limbs,  and  ran  forward  through  the  pine  woods 
that  shaded  all  that  portion  of  the  country.  Straight  and 
.symmetrical  as  the  pillars  of  an  antique  temple,  the  auburn- 
coloured  trunks  bore  aloft  their  green  and  odorous  crests, 
meeting  overhead,  and  forming  a  fretwork,  such  as  man,  with 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  71 

all  his  boasted  art,  could  never  imitate.  Marcus  heard  the 
music  of  a  gushing  spring,  gurgling  over  the  rocks,  and  ho 
hastened  on,  to  bathe  his  thirsty  lips  in  its  waters. 

"  Oh  I"  thought  he,  "  that  I  could  see  my  own  dear  mossy 
spring  !  that  I  could  behold  the  long  blue  plumes  curling  so 
gracefully  over  the  white  limestone,  and  under  the  clear  waves  I" 

There  was  a  sudden  turn  in  the  road  where  the  spring 
spouted,  and  Marcus  started  back  in  astonishment,  as  he 
leaped  forward  to  plunge  his  head  into  the  basin.  A  young 
girl  sat  upon  a  rock,  just, above  the  fountain,  dipping  a  riding- 
whip  in  the  water,  and  flirting  the  drops  about  in  a  sportive 
manner.  She  was  habited  in  an  equestrian  garb,  though  no 
horse  was  near.  A  small  hat,  with  black,  drooping  feathers, 
sat  jauntily  on  her  head,  and  a  long,  dark  riding-skirt,  though 
drawn  up  in  many  a  fold,  still  almost  touched  the  edge  of  the 
fountain.  She  looked  up  as  Marcus  drew  near,  and  discovered 
a  face  of  singular  brightness  and  expression.  She  was  a  deep 
brunette,  but  a  rich  sunset  glow  lighted  up  the  twilight  of  her 
cheeks,  and  a  smile,  mischievous  and  even  saucy,  curled  her 
red  lip  as  she  gazed  on  the  young  intruder,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  Who  are  you,  sir,  and  how  dare  you  come  so  near  my  do 
minions  ?" 

"  Have  I  permission  to  drink  of  the  spring  ?"  asked  he, 
taking  off  his  hat  in  courtesy  to  the  nymph  of  the  fountain, 
who  nodded  her  head  haughtily,  though  the  same  smile 
illumined  her  face.  He  knelt  down  on  the  rock,  and  bowed 
his  head  to  the  gush  of  the  waters.  A  sudden  shower 
drenched  his  hair,  while  a  wild  burst  of  laughter  rang  musi 
cally  in  his  ear.  The  fair  equestrian  had  amused  herself,  by 
throwing  up  the  water  with  her  whip,  and  saturating  the 
sunny  locks  that  swept  on  its  surface. 

Emboldened  by  her  mirth,  Marcus  shook  the  drops  from  his 
head,  and  asked  her  if  she  was  the  fairy  of  the  spring. 

"  No,"  said  she,  laughing ;  "  I  am  only  a  poor  little  maiden, 
who  has  lost  her  pony.  My  saddle  turned.  I  jumped  off; 
Fairy — (you  see,  I  am  greater  than  a  fairy,  for  I  have  one 


72  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

under  my  sway) — Fairy  cut  all  kinds  of  capers,  and  ran  off, 
nobody  knows  whither.  Haven't  you  seen  a  stray  pony,  young 
gentleman,  in  your  travels  ?" 

Marcus  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  perfect  nonchalance 
of  the  young  girl,  and  at  the  coolness  with  which  she  had 
seated  herself,  at  that  late  hour  of  the  day,  waiting  for  the 
recreant  that  might  never  return.  He  longed  to  offer  his 
services,  to  go  in  search  of  the  stray  animal,  but  the  stage  might 
come  along  during  his  absence,  and  he  be  left  in  the  wild 
woods,  at  the  mercy  of  this  gay  but  haughty  damsel.  While 
he  was  explaining  his  situation,  and  regret  at  his  inability  to 
offer  his  services  as  her  knight,  a  negro  approached,  leading 
the  meek  and  penitent-looking  pony,  who  came  up  to  the  side 
of  its  young  mistress,  with  a  look  of  human  sensibility,  depre 
cating  her  anger. 

"  Naughty  Fairy,"  said  she,  fondly  stroking  its  dark-brown 
mane;  "shame  on  you  to  leave  your  mistress  in  the  lurch. 
You  shall  feed  on  dry  bread  and  water  till  morning  to  pay  for 
it.  No,  I  thank  you,  sir,"  said  she,  as  Marcus  eagerly  held 
out  his  hand  to  assist  her  to  mount,  bounding  at  the  same  time 
on  its  back,  with  the  lightness  of  a  sylph ;  "  I  want  no  help. 
Pray,  tell  me  the  name  of  the  brave  knight  who  was  so  willing 
to  help  me  in  my  extremity." 

Marcus  blushed  deeply  at  this  sarcastic  speech,  but  he  an 
swered  with  becoming  spirit : — "  My  time  is  not  my  own,  fair 
miss.  Should  I  lose  my  passage  and  my  trunk,  I  should  be  in  a 
sorry  plight  in  these  woods." 

"  Oh,  we  could  give  you  a  thousand  trunks  for  one,"  an 
swered  the  proud  little  lady,  "  and  our  house  is  large  enough 
to  entertain  all  the  wandering  squires  in  Christendom.  So, 
you  will  not  tell  me  your  name  ?"  added  she,  with  t.  look  so 
soft  and  womanly  it  was  quite  bewitching  from  contrast. 

"  Most  willingly,"  said  Marcus,  "  hoping  to  receive  the  same 
favour  frofm  my  fair  companion.  I  am  called  Marcus  Warland, 
a  name  I  hope  to  adorn  with  the  highest  honours  of  the  uni 
versity  to  which  I  am  bound." 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  %  73 

"  Marcus  "Warland  !"  repeated  she — and  Marcus  thought  he 
Lad  never  heard  his  name  sound  so  sweetly  before.  "  That 
does  not  sound  badly.  So,  you  are  ambitious,  it  seems." 

"  Very — there  are  no  bounds  to  my  ambition.  I  feel  as  if 
I  could  dare  all,  and  attain  all.  But  are  you  not  going  to  re 
turn  my  courtesy,  and  tell  me  by  what  name  I  may  remember 
you  ?" 

"And  who  told  you  to  remember  me  at  all  ?"  answered  the 
wild  brunette,  putting  her  foot  in  the  stirrup,  preparatory  to 
flight.  "  You  will  forget  me  as  soon  as  Fairy  plunges  in  these 
woods.  Let  me  see.  They  call  me  Puss,  Pet,  Missy,  and 
Tom-boy — Dash  and  Lightning  sometimes.  You  may  take 
your  choice.  They  are  all  pretty  and  fanciful." 

"I  should  think  Lightning  the  most  appropriate/'  said 
Marcus,  feeling  the  lambent  brightness  of  her  glances  playing 
on  his  face. 

"  You  talk  very  well  for  your  age,"  she  cried,  with  a  seri 
ous  air.  "You  can't  be  more  than  sixteen,  I  am  sure?" 

"  You  guess  marvellously  well,"  replied  Mar.cus,  laughing 
at  her  odd  inquisitive  ways,  though  vexed  that  she  would  not 
gratify  his  own  curiosity.  The  rumbling  of  the  stage  was 
heard  as  it  came  thundering  down  the  hill. 

"Good-bye,  Master  Marcus  Warland,"  cried  she,  holding 
out  her  beautiful,  ungloved  hand,  with  a  mixture  of  bashful 
archness  and  haughty  condescension,  "  when  you  win  all  the 
blushing  honours  to  which  you  are  aspiring,  may  I  be  there 
to  see  and  admire." 

One  cut  of  her  slender  whip  on  Fairy's  flank,  and  Miss 
Lightning  vanished  from  his  sight,  leaving  him  so  dazzled  and 
bewildered  by  the  unexpected  encounter,  that  he  came  near  get 
ting  into  the  windows  of  the  stage  instead  of  the  door. 

Marcus  had  met  many  grown  ladies  and  young  misses  at 
Mrs.  Bellamy's,  and  the  companionship  of  his  refined  and  beau 
tiful  benefactress  had  given  him  an  ease  of  manners  in  the 
society  of  ladies  seldom  met  with  at  the  usually  awkward  and 
doubtful  era  of  his  life.  The  remarkable  beauty  of  his  person, 


74  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

combined  with  the  frankness,  spirit,  and  grace  of  his  deport 
ment,  made  him  a  favourite  wherever  he  went.  The  conscious 
ness  of  being  able  to  please  gave  him  a  confidence  that  never 
overreached  on  the  bounds  of  modesty,  and  a  gayety  chastened 
by  perfect  good  breeding.  But  there  was  something  so  teas 
ing,  so  baffling  about  this  original  brunette,  so  different  from 
any  one  whom  he  had  ever  met  before,  that  it  haunted  him, 
and  even  in  his  dreams  the  dark  girl  of  the  fountain  pursued 
him,  with  her  menacing  little  whip,  and  dashed  the  spray  over 
his  uncovered  head. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Dusky  and  radiant  as  the  night, 

The  night  of  tropic  skies — 
The  daughter  of  a  darker  race, 

The  maid  with  Arab  eyes, 
Smiles  brightly  on  her  bridal  hour. 

Ah  me  !  that  fate  should  stand, 
Unbidden  guest  amid  the  cheer 

Of  that  gay  festal  band. — BALLAD. 

CHRISTMAS  was  at  hand — the  great  saturnalia  of  the  South — • 
when  for  seven  days  the  slave  revels  in  all  the  joys  of  free 
dom,  and,  as  in  the  ancient  festivals  celebrated  in  honour  of  the 
father  of  the  gods,  the  master  and  mistress  act  a  subordinate 
part.  Whatever  services  are  required  during  these  gala  days 
are  liberally  rewarded,  though  they  may  be  spontaneously 
offered.  An  unprejudiced  stranger,  who  wished  to  see  some 
of  the  lights  that  illumine  the  darkness  of  slavery,  would  re 
joice  in  the  opportunity  of  visiting  Bellamy  Place  while  the 
holidays  were  infusing  their  gladdening  influence  through  the 
whole  plantation. 

For  two  or  three  days  previous,  Mrs.  Bellamy,  assisted  by 
the  delighted  Katy,  was  assorting  the  presents  she  had  prepared 
for  all  the  household  slaves.  Those  who  were  called  the  field 
negroes  were  remembered  by  the  bounty  of  the  master,  who 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  75 

never  assigned  them  a  niggard  boon.  The  gifts  of  Mrs.  Bel 
lamy  generally  consisted  of  a  handsome  calico  dress,  a  radiant 
handkerchief,  and  those  little  showy,  fancy  articles  that  set  off 
to  advantage  their  shining  and  jetty  skins.  The  little  negroes 
•were  allowed  to  hang  up  their  stockings,  sure  that  St.  Nicholas 
would  fill  them  with  sweet  cakes  and  candy. 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  first  day  of  Christmas  week,  and 
with  the  earliest  faint  auroral  streak  merry  voices  were  tumbling 
on  the  top  of  each  other,  and  making  the  house  ring  with 
"  Christmas  gift,  master  I"  "  Christmas  gift,  mistress  I"  "When 
a  master  and  mistress  so  kind  and  liberal  as  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Bellamy  are  thus  aroused  from  their  slumbers,  the  gift-seekers 
are  never  sent  empty  away,  but  the  ready  packets  are  tossed 
to  the  right  owners,  or  a  promise  given  that  is  faithfully  kept. 
But  it  is  not  the  master  and  mistress  alone  who  are  thus  ho 
noured.  Every  member  of  the  house,  whoever  it  may  be,  is 
saluted  by  the  same  greeting,  and  when  the  white  population 
are  satisfied  with  the  honours  they  have  received,  the  negroes 
run  headlong  against  each  other,  repeating  from  the  altitude  of 
their  lungs  the  annual,  unwearied  cry  of  "  Christmas  gift  I" 
Then  follows  the  exulting  shout,  "I've  caught  you!"  with  the 
climax  of  a  laugh  such  as  only  a  negro  can  send  out  through 
the  ivory  portals  of  sound. 

The  holidays  were  ushered  in  with  unusual  excitement,  as 
the  nuptials  of  King  and  Cora  were  to  be  celebrated  with  all 
the  brilliancy  befitting  such  distinguished  personages.  The 
marriage  of  the  favourite  household  slave  of  a  wealthy  planter 
is  a  circumstance  of  nearly  as  much  interest  as  that  of  a  son  or 
daughter.  Here  were  two  favourites,  and  of  course  preparations 
of  unwonted  magnificence  were  made.  Mr.  Bellamy,  at  the  timo 
his  own  mansion  was  built,  had  erected  a  large  hall  expressly 
for  a  dancing-room  for  his  negroes,  and  every  night  of  the  an 
nual  festival  the  animating  strains  of  the  violin  winged  the 
feet  which  neither  toil  had  stiffened  nor  slavery  weighed  down. 
The  wedding  of  Cora  was  to  be  succeeded  by  a  ball,  to  which 
the  negroes  of  the  neighbouring  plantations  were  invited,  ana 


7(3  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

for  which  invitations,  written  by  Katy  in  her  fairest  hand;  had 
already  been  circulated. 

The  only  drawback  to  the  hilarity  of  the  occasion  was  the 
Carthaginian  General.  Though  he  was  apparently  subdued 
by  the  mild  influence  of  his  mistress,  and  was  really  so  for  the 
time,  his  passions  were  only  slumbering.  Like  the  chained 
mastiff  that  guarded  his  master's  yard,  they  had  lost  none  of 
their  strength,  but  were  ready  to  break  loose  and  deal  destruc 
tion  around  them.  Following  the  counsels  of  Mrs.  Bellamy, 
Cora  put  aside  her  little,  coquettish,  triumphant  airs,  and  treated 
him  with  real  kindness,  but  it  seemed  to  have  no  effect  on  his 
dark  and  sullen  mood.  Mrs.  Bellamy  did  not  express  the  ap 
prehensions  that  filled  her  mind,  but  she  had  a  sad  misgiving 
that  something  would  happen  to  sadden  the  prospects  of  the 
beautiful  mulatto.  Still  her  hands  loved  to  adorn  her  with 
the  bridal  robes,  which  enhanced,  as  they  usually  do,  the  natural 
beauty  of  the  wearer.  Cora's  dress  and  the  ornaments  that 
decorated  it  were  the  Christmas  gifts  of  her  mistress,  and 
many  a  fair  bride  of  the  race  of  snow  would  be  proud  to  clothe 
herself  in  raiment  as  tasteful  and  becoming.  The  transparent 
Swiss  muslin  frock,  the  glistening  white  satin  sash,  the  white 
blossoms  that  wreathed  her  jetty  and  braided  hair,  were  all 
that  a  fashionable  belle  could  desire.  Her  coral  necklace  and 
bracelets  contrasted  richly  with  the  bright  golden  hue  of  her 
neck  and  arms ;  and  deep  and  brilliant  as  the  coral  glowing 
under  the  darkening  wave  was  the  colour  that  dyed  her  round 
and  dimpled  cheeks. 

As  she  stood  before  her  mistress  in  the  beauty  of  her  bridal 
attire,  smiling  under  her  pleased  and  admiring  gaze,  a  sudden 
sadness  clouded  her  brow,  and  tears  gathered  unbidden  into 
her  soft,  black  eyes. 

"I  don't  know  what  is  the  reason,  mistress,"  said  she, 
"  but  I  feel  so  bad  to-night ;  I  do  think  something  is  going  to 
happen  to  me  or  King ;  I  ve  seen  so  many  bad  signs  lately." 

"  Oh,  Cora,  you  must  not  believe  in  signs,"  said  Katy. 

"  I,  can't  help  it,  Miss  Katy.  I  dreamed  I  was  married  last 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  77 

night,  and  that  is  a  sure  sign  of  a  funeral ;  and  the  owls  have 
been  hooting  on  an  old  tree  back  of  the  kitchen  for  more  than 
a  week." 

"  But  you  know  there  is  a  charm  in  a  wedding-ring,  Cora, 
that  nothing  can  resist,  so  you  must  hasten  to  put  one  on," 
said  Mrs.  Bellamy,  in  a  reassuring  tone. 

The  ceremony  was  performed  in  a  back  sitting-room,  which 
was  decorated  with  holly  and  pine  boughs,  so  that  it  looked 
like  an  evergreen  bower.  King,  who  was  worthy  of  his  royal 
name,  would  not  have  exchanged  situations  with  Prince  Albert, 
or  any  other  potentate  of  Europe ;  and  the  black  retinue  that 
surrounded  this  son  and  daughter  of  Africa,  whose  paler  com 
plexions  showed  they  approached  a  fairer  race,  gazed  upon 
them  with  as  much  admiration  and  deference  as  England's 
royal  pair  ever  inspired.  But  when  the  doors  of  the  supper- 
room  were  thrown  open,  a  frame  building  contiguous  to  the 
ball-room,  the  coup  d'ceil  was  dazzling  as  a  sunburst.  The 
table  was  brilliantly  lighted  and  adorned  with  all  the  flowers  a 
mild  southern  winter  so  liberally  supplies.  Cakes  beautifully 
ornamented  and  frosted  as  white  as  ivory,  oranges,  confection- 
aries,  and  all  the  luxuries  that  are  customary  on  suc-h  occasions, 
covered  the  board.  These  dainties  were  partly  supplied  by 
Mrs.  Bellamy  and  partly  by  the  negroes  themselves,  who  took 
a  pride  and  delight  in  appropriating  some  of  their  own  earn 
ings  to  adorn  the  marriage-feast.  Cora,  who  sought  in  vain 
among  the  wedding  guests  for  the  powerful  form  and  raven 
face  of  Hannibal,  suffered  her  spirits  to  rebound  from  the 
weight  that  had  oppressed  them,  and  gayly  laughed  and 
brightly  blushed,  and  gave  herself  fully  to  the  enjoyment  of 
woman's  triumph  hour.  The  transition  from  the  supper  to 
the  ball-room  was  followed  by  greater  hilarity  and  more  unre 
strained  freedom.  Wilder  and  wilder  grew  the  mirth  and 
excitement,  till  each  fibre  of  every  plank  in  the  floor  seemed 
to  quiver  beneath  the  bounding,  flying,  crossing,  pigeon- 
winged  feet  that  kept  time  to  the  quick,  bewitching  strains  of 
the  viol  and  the  tambourine.  It  was  inspiring  to  look  on  the 


"78  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

master  of  the  last  instrument;  the  way  he  rattled  on  thf- 
parchment  was  quite  supernatural.  Shutting  his  eyes  and 
opening  his  mouth,  and  throwing  back  his  head,  his  knuckles 
rang  like  brazen  balls  on  the  resounding  instrument.  Some 
times  he  would  rap  it  thunderingly  with  his  head,  then  whirl 
ing  it  with  inconceivable  rapidity  to  his  feet,  tap  it  with  his 
heels  and  toes,  then  it  would  be  dancing  on  his  elbows,  like  a. 
thing  of  life  and  instinct.  Not  satisfied  with  this  surpassing 
display  of  agility,  he  would  throw  the  tambourine  on  the  floor, 
and  whirling  it  round  with  the  end  of  his  forefinger,  its  little 
bells  would  jingle  like  a  New  England  sleigh.  All  this  time 
he  seemed  in  a  magnetic  sleep,  for  it  is  questionable  whether 
he  ever  unclosed  his  eyes. 

King  and  Cora  opened  the  ball  with  a  grace  that  captivated 
every  eye.  Cora  lightly  touched  the  folds  of  her  full,  falling 
skirt  with  the  tip  of  her  white  gloves,  and  put  her  pretty  head 
on  one  side,  as  she  had  seen  the  white  belles  do  in  her  mistress's 
drawing-room,  and  King  kept  up  a  bowing  and  swaying  mo 
tion  that  waved  the  skirts  of  his  coat  to  and  fro,  as  well  as  the 
end  of  the  white  handkerchief  that  hung  elaborately  from  his 
pocket.  During  a  pause  in  the  reels,  Dancing  Jack,  as  he  was 
called  far  and  near,  took  the  centre  of  the  floor  and  performed 
the  Virginia  break-down,  in  a  style  that  defies  description. 
Each  separate  joint  and  sinew  danced,  as  if  it  were  an  indivi 
dual  self.  If  ever  there  was  an  example  of  rapidly  accelerat 
ing,  apparently  perpetual,  unwearied  motion,  it  was  exhibited 
by  Dancing  Jack.  He  became  wild,  frantic,  superhuman,  and 
finished  at  last  by  an  exulting  leap,  then  giving  his  right  heel 
a  tremendous  rap,  stood  as  if  transformed  to  a  black  petrifac 
tion.  While  Jack  was  enchanting  his  companions  by  his  un 
exampled  achievement,  Cora  stole  out  to  arrange  her  hair, 
which  had  become  disordered  in  the  dance.  As  she  passed  out 
she  saw  a  tall,  dark  figure  lurking  near  the  door,  which  she 
immediately  recognised  as  Hannibal.  Though  she  had  a  dread, 
amounting  to  horror,  of  her  Herculean  lover,  she  pitied  his  uu- 


THE  LONG  MOSS   SPRING.  79 

requited  attachment,  and  longed  to  address  him  some  soothing 
words. 

"  Why  don't  you  come  in  and  dance,  General  ?"  said  she, 
"  or  play  on  your  violin  for  us  ?  There's  nobody  can  play 
like  you." 

"  I'm  no  Dancing  Jack,"  he  replied,  gloomily,  "  and  if  you 
on't  need  me  one  way,  you  needn't  another.  I  wish  you  joy, 
Miss  Cora;  I  hope  you'll  think  of  me,  when  next  Christmas 
come  round  again." 

"  Thank  you,  Hannibal,  to  be  sure  I  shall." 

Cora  ran  up-stairs  into  Mrs.  Bellamy's  room,  which  was  un 
occupied  now,  though  a  bright  fire  was  blazing  in  the  chimney 
and  a  candle  burning  on  a  small  stand  near  the  hearth.  Cora 
went  to  the  large  mirror  and  arranged  her  shining  hftir.  She 
thought  she  saw  the  gloomy  shadow  of  Hannibal  behind  her, 
and  turned  round  once  or  twice  before  she  could  remove  the 
impression. 

"  Poor  fellow !"  said  she,  still  gazing  on  her  own  bright 
figure.  "  I  do  pity  him.  If  King  loved  anybody  else,  I  should 
feel  so  bad.  I  really  believe  I  should  poison  myself.  Now 
aint  he  handsome  ?  and  doesn't  he  look  like  a  rose  among 
thorns  ?  Oh,  get  along,  Cora;  how  like  a  fool  you  do  talk  !" 

Cora's  white  teeth  gleamed  on  the  face  of  the  mirror,  then 
turning  away  she  threw  herself  into  a  large  easy-chair  in  front 
of  the  fire,  and  in  spite  of  the  excited  state  of  her  feelings  and 
the  extreme  want  of  sentiment  evinced  by  the  act,  she  fell  asleep 
in  her  downy  nest.  She  had  been  up  almost  all  the  preceding 
night,  on  her  feet  all  day,  and  had  been  dancing  with  such  ex 
traordinary  enthusiasm,  that  the  soft  cushion  and  gentle  warmth 
of  the  room  soothed  her  to  instantaneous  repose.  How  long 
she  slept  she  knew  not.  She  was  awakened  by  a  sense  of  heat 
and  suffocation,  as  if  her  lungs  were  turned  to  fire.  Starting 
up  she  found  herself  encircled  by  a  blaze  of  light,  that  seemed 
to  emanate  from  her  own  body.  Her  light  dress  was  one  sheet 
of  flame,  the  chair  she  left  was  enveloped  in  the  same  destroy 
ing  element. 


80  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

"  Mercy  !  mercy  I"  she  shrieked.  "  Oh !  mistress,  save  me, 
save  me."  Rushing  through  the  hall  and  down  the  stairs,  the 
flames  flashing  more  wildly  round  her,  she  still  screamed, 
"  Mistress,  save  me  I"  Mrs.  Bellamy,  who  was  in  the  room 
below,  heard  the  sudden  terrible  cry  of  human  suffering,  and 
flew  to  relieve  it.  When  she  beheld  the  blazing  figure  leaping 
towards  the  open  door,  and  recognised  the  voice  of  Cora,  shrill 
and  piercing  as  it  now  was,  regardless  of  self,  she  sprang  after 
her,  and  seizing  her  with  frenzied  grasp,  tried  to  crush  the 
flames  with  her  slender  fingers,  and  smother  them  against  her 
own  body.  While  she  was  thus  heroically  endeavouring  to 
save  the  beautiful  mulatto  at  the  risk  of  her  own  life,  Han 
nibal,  who  had  dragged  the  carpet  from  the  hall,  wrapped  it 
closely  round  the  form  of  her  he  so  madly  loved ;  feeling  even 
in  that  moment  of  horror  a  fierce  transport  that  he  had  anti 
cipated  the  bridegroom  in  this  act  of  preservation.  The  flames, 
which  were  communicated  to  Mrs.  Bellamy's  dress,  which 
being  of  black  satin  was  not  of  very  inflammable  materials, 
were  smothered  by  the  contact  of  the  thick  carpet.  Resigning 
Cora  to  the  powerful  arms  of  Hannibal,  who  bore  her  into  the 
house,  she  followed  her,  unconscious,  in  her  intense  excitement 
and  anxiety,  of  the  injury  she  had  herself  sustained.  Mr. 
Bellamy,  who  was  looking  into  the  ball-room  when  Cora's 
wild  cry  summoned  her  mistress  to  her  aid,  met  his  wife  on 
the  threshold,  who,  even  while  she  held  up  her  burnt  and 
bleeding  hands,  exclaimed  with  white  and  blistering  lips : — 

"  See  to  Cora.     Oh  !  husband,  look  to  her.     I  am  not  hurt." 

"  My  God !  Isabel,  those  hands !  What  have  you  been 
doing  ?" 

"  Cora  is  burned  to  death,"  she  gasped,  reeling  against  him 
as  she  spoke.  "  Think  not  of  me.  Poor  Cora  I" 

While  this  self-sacrificing  and  heroic  woman  endeavoured 
to  direct  even  her  husband's  attention  to  the  chief  sufferer  in 
this  awful  scene,  Cora  was  surrounded  by  a  dense  and  bewail 
ing  crowd.  She  was  not  burned  to  death,  as  her  mistress  had 
said,  but  death  would  have  been  a  mercy  to  the  life  of  suffering 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING:  81 

that  remained  to  her.  Poor  King !  the  late  proud,  happy,  smil 
ing  bridegroom.  He  threw  himself  by  her  side  with  frantic 
agony,  sobbing  and  wringing  his  hands,  and  calling  piteously 
on  her  name.  Hannibal  stood  near,  making  no  loud  demon 
stration  of  grief,  the  big  drops  rolling  silently  down  his  cheeks. 
There  was  a  lurid  fire  in  his  eye  when  he  looked  at  King,  in 
dicating  a  kind  of  savage  joy  in  his  sufferings,  mingled  with 
his  anguish  for  hers. 

"I'll  let  him  live  now,"  muttered  he  to  himself.  "  I  'fraid 
I  would  a  killed  him.  He  suffer  now,  poor  fellow.  He  suffer 
now,  that  he  does." 

It  was  some  time  before  Doctor  Manning,  the  physician  of 
the  family,  could  reach  Hickory  Hill,  as  he  dwelt  several  miles 
distant.  In  the  mean  time,  Aunt  Milly,  who  was  famous  for 
the  cure  of  burns,  took  the  poor  girl  under  her  care,  and  did 
all  she  could  for  her  relief  by  taking  off  the  burned  cinders  of 
her  dress,  and  wrapping  folds  of  cotton  around  her.  She  also 
wrapped  up  Mrs.  Bellamy's  bleeding  hands,  while  Katy  stood 
sobbing  by  her  side.  It  was  a  terrible  winding  up  of  the 
bridal  festivities.  While  Cora  was  nodding  in  the  easy-chair, 
a  portion  of  her  light  dress  had  come  in  contact  with  the  candle 
burning  on  the  table,  and  she  thus  became  a  blazing  martyr 
to  one  moment's  self-indulgence.  She  was  fearing  the  dark 
jealousy  of  Hannibal.  She  thought  not  of  the  winding-sheet 
of  flame  the  hand  of  destiny  was  weaving  in  exchange  for  her 
bridal  robes.  How  seldom  do'  the  evils  we  most  dread  roll 
down  upon  our  souls  !  How  often  are  we  crushed  by  a  sudden, 
startling,  unlooked-for  weight  of  wo  ! 

It  was  past  midnight  before  Doctor  Manning  arrived,  whose 
arrival  was  anticipated  with  unutterable  anxiety.  Mrs.  Bel 
lamy  sat  in  an  easy-chair  by  the  couch  on  which  the  moaning 
bride  was  laid.  Her  bandaged  hands  lay  upon  a  pillow,  and 
her  pale  countenance  was  expressive  of  the  deepest  suffering. 

"  Not  me,  doctor,"  said  she,  looking  towards  the  couch ; 
"  attend  to  poor  Cora  first ;  my  sufferings  are  nothing  to  hers, 
nothing." 
57 


82  MARCUS   WARLANDJ   OR, 

Feeling  the  truth  of  her  remark,  while  he  honoured  her  dis 
interested  compassion,  the  doctor  obeyed  her,  and  turned  to 
the  patient,  whose  moans  and  cries  indicated  a  degree  of  pain 
which  he  feared  his  utmost  skill  would  be  unable  to  relieve. 
It  was  a  harrowing  task  to  examine  the  extent  of  the  injuries 
she  had  received,  nor  was  it  possible  for  him  to  pronounce  at 
once  upon  the  probability  of  her  recovery.  So  strong  was  her 
solicitude  to  know  his  opinion  of  Cora's  case,  that  Mrs.  Bella 
my  forgot  her  own,  and  fixed  her  eyes  upon  him  with  a  look 
of  earnest  inquiry.  She  saw  that  a  cloud,  deeper  than  serious 
ness,  rested  on  his  fine  countenance,  and  her  heart  failed. 

"You  thiuk  her  case  very  bad,  doctor?" 

"  She  is,  indeed,  very  badly,  deeply  burned." 

"But  there  is  hope,  doctor?  You  have  cured  such  dreadful 
cases  ?" 

"I  do  not  say  that  this  is  hopeless;  and  be  assured  all  that 
I  can  do  shall  be  done  to  mitigate  her  sufferings  and  promote 
her  recovery.  But,  my  dear  madam,  when  are  you  going  to  let 
me  see  those  hands  of  yours  you  keep  so  carefully  concealed  ?" 

"  How  willingly  would  I  endure  this,  and  far  more,  if  by  so 
doing  I  could  purchase  the  life  of  Cora  I"  said  Mrs.  Bellamy, 
while  they  unbound  her  smarting,  raw,  and  disfigured  hands. 
But  never  in  their  native  fairness,  when  uncovered  and  spark 
ling  with  rings,  had  they  been  so  worthy  of  admiration  as  at 
this  moment,  marred  as  they  were  in  her  generous  efforts  to 
save  the  life  of  her  slave.  So  Doctor  Manning  thought,  as 
with  gentle  touch  and  well-tried  skill  he  applied  the  healing 
remedies. of  his  art  to  the  sore  and  quivering  flesh.  He  had 
a  soul  keenly  susceptible  of  the  influence  of  moral  beauty,  and 
as  his  profession  brought  him  within  those  sanctuaries  of  the 
heart  to  which  very  few  are  admitted,  he  had  an  opportunity 
of  studying  its  most  hidden  pages. 

"Your  scars  will  be  more  honourable  than  those  of  the  war 
rior's,  gained  on  the  battle-field,"  said  he  to  Mrs.  Bellamy, 
when  he  had  dressed  the  martyred  members. 

"  I  do  not  deserve  any  praise,  doctor.     It  was  all  instinctive." 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  83 

"  But  surely,  the  instinct  of  benevolence  that  induces  one 
to  peril  her  life  regardlessly  for  another,  is  more  praiseworthy 
than  the  self-love  that  folds  the  mantle  of  security  over  its  own 
breast,  believing  that  self-preservation  is  the  first  great  law  of 
being." 

After  administering  an  anodyne  to  both,  the  doctor  took  his 
leave,  promising  to  call  the  next  day,  or  rather  the  same,  for 
the  dawn  was  already  standing  at  the  gates  of  the  orient.  At 
the  outer  door  he  was  stopped  by  the  bridegroom,  who  could 
scarcely  articulate  the  question  that  trembled  on  his  lips. 

"  She  won't  die,  doctor,  will  she  ?  Cora  won't  die  ?"  repeated 
he,  hanging  on  his  words  as  if  his  own  existence  depended  on 
the  answer. 

"  I  hope  not,  my  poor  fellow/'  said  the  doctor,  in  a  kind 
and  sympathizing  tone.  "  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  say  now 
what  will  be  the  result,  but  we  will  certainly  hope  for  the 
best.  In  the  mean  time,  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  restore  her." 

"  I  know  you  will,  doctor,"  said  he,  still  detaining  him. 
"  They  say  you  kill  or  cure,  just  which  you  please.  Promise 
to  cure  Cora,  and  I'll  follow  you  on  my  knees  all  my  born  days." 

"  You  must  pray  to  God  for  her  life,  and  that  He  will  bless 
the  means  used  for  her  recovery ;  but  you  must  not  put  me  in 
the  place  of  the  Almighty,"  said  the  doctor,  gently  drawing 
away  from  the  despairing  bridegroom,  and  riding  from  the  door. 

"  Yes,"  mused  the  benevolent  physician,  as  he  went  forth 
into  the  faint,  chill  morning  twilight ;  "  the  words  this  poor 
negro  has  uttered  in  his  ignorance  and  despair  are  but  the 
echoed  breathings  of  suffering  humanity.  In  the  hour  of  physi 
cal  anguish  and  impending  bereavement,  imploring  Nature 
turns  to  us,  and  prays  us,  in  God's  stead,  to  succour  and  to 
save.  If  our  feeble  arm  does  arrest  the  stroke  of  the  destroy 
ing  angel,  some  grateful  hearts  invoke  Heaven's  blessing  on 
our  head;  but  if  human  science  be  baffled,  and  inexorable  death 
claim  his  victim,  then  the  frantic  mourner  cries,  '  We  might 
have  saved  them  if  we  would,'  and  the  mocking  cynic  ex 
claims,  when  the  hearse  rolls  darkly  on  t«o  the  land  of  ever- 


84  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

lasting  silence,  ( There  goes  one  of  the  doctor's  patients  to  his 
long  home.'  Verily,  there  are  thorns  among  the  roses  that 
blossom  on  the  wayside  of  our  existence." 

It  is  probable  the  reflections  of  Doctor  Manning  would  not 
have  assumed  the  character  they  did,  had  he  indulged  any  san 
guine  hopes  of  the  recovery  of  his  patient.  Days,  even  weeks 
passed  away,  and  all  his  skill  and  kindness  availed  not.  Poor 
Cora's  doom  was  sealed.  Mrs.  Bellamy  had  recovered  the  use 
of  her  hands,  and  assisted  in  nursing  the  dying  mulatto.  So 
great  and  protracted  had  been  her  sufferings,  that  even  King 
was  willing  that  she  should  die,  rather  than  live  longer  in  hope 
less  anguish.  At  first  Cora  clung  to  life  with  strong,  convul 
sive  grasp,  and  would  entreat  the  doctor,  with  pitying  accents, 
"  Not  to  let  her  die,"  but  gradually  the  convulsive  grasp  re 
laxed,  the  wild  glance  of  despair  melted  into  the  softness  of 
tears,  and  she  begged  her  mistress  to  pray  that  she  might  be 
made  willing  to  die.  Holy  were  the  prayers  that  went  up  by 
her  bedside  for  the  boon  of  Christian  resignation,  and  they 
were  not  breathed  in  vain.  The  same  gentle  hand  that  had 
embraced  the  flames  for  her  rescue  led  her,  a  trembling,  but 
accepted  penitent,  to  the  feet  of  her  Saviour. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  blazing  element  that  had  consumed  the 
springs  of  her  existence  was  touched  by  the  beauty  of  her  face. 
No  defacing  mark  was  there,  but  her  cheek  remained  as  smooth 
and  transparent  as  when  it  blushed  beneath  the  bridal  kiss. 
Just  before  she  died,  she  turned  her  eyes  in  all  their  languish 
ing  brightness  towards  her  mistress,  who  bent  over  her  to 
catch  her  faint,  low  accents. 

"  Let  me  kiss  once  more  the  dear  hands  that  suffered  for 
me,"  said  the  expiring  mulatto  j  and  her  weeping  mistress 
softly  pressed  her  hand  on  the  cold  lips,  once  red  and  bright 
as  the  coral  of  the  ocean. 

There  is  a  plain  white  slab  in  a  green  enclosure  on  Hickory 
Hill,  sacred  to  the  memory  of  Cora.  There  are  sweet  flowers 
And  shrubs  blooming  around  it.  The  mourning  bridegroom 
of  an  hour  planted  a  weeping-willow  by  its  side,  and  many  a 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SrBJNd.  85 

night,  when  the  moon  was  shining  on  her  grave,  the  tall,  dark 
form  of  Hannibal  would  wander  to  the  spot,  certain  that  he  met 
there  the  spirit  of  Cora,  and  that  she  looked  kiudly  upon  him. 
Indeed,  all  the  negroes  on  the  plantation  saw  her  ghost,  and  it 
was  always  dressed  like  a  bride,  in  white  muslin,  white  roses, 
and  white  kid  gloves. 

One  incident  connected  with  the  history  of  the  doomed 
bride  should  not  be  omitted  here. 

A  short  time  after  her  death,  Hannibal  fell  sick,  and  Doc 
tor  Manning  was  summoned  to  his  bedside.  He  had  attended 
him  the  previous  year  during  his  illness,  and  Hannibal  had  a 
grateful  remembrance  of  his  kindness  and  an  unbounded  ad 
miration  for  his  skill. 

One  night,  when  the  General's  fever  was  unusually  high,  and 
he  began  to  have  some  fears  for  his  own  safety,  he  requested 
to  be  left  entirely  alone  with  the  doctor. 

"Doctor,"  said  he,  "do  you,  think  I  going  to  die  this 
time?" 

"  I  hope  not,  General ;  you  don't  look  like  a  dying  man  yet." 

"  But  I  may  die  for  all  that,  and  I  wants  to  tell  you  some 
thing,  if  you  please,  Doctor,  'cause  I  knows  I  ought  to  confess 
it.  'Spose  a  man  wants  to  kill  a  man,  and  don't  do  it,  taint 
murder ;  is  it,  doctor  ?" 

"  If  he  would  do  it  if  he  could,  he  commits  murder  in  his 
heart,  General." 

"  0  Lord,"  cried  Hannibal,  rolling  his  hot  head  from  side  to 
side  on  the  bolster.  "  0  Lord,  I  would  a  killed  King,  if  ] 
could,  'fore  poor  Cora  got  burned  to  cinders ;  I  didn't  think 
of  nothing  else,  Doctor." 

"  But  you  have  repented  since,"  said  the  doctor,  trying  to 
soothe  the  excited  conscience  of  his  patient ;  "  you  would  not 
do  it  now." 

"  0  Lord,  no ;  I  so  sorry  for  him  j  I  wouldn't  hurt  his 
little  finger  for  him.  I  repented  ever  since ;  I  keep  repenting 
long  I  live." 

"Then  I  doubt  not  you  are  forgiven  by  Him  you  have 


86  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

offended.  But  keep  quiet,  General,  or  I  never  shall  be  able 
to  cure  you." 

"  I  quiet  now,  I  confess  it,  I  make  clean  breast  this  time," 
said  the  negro,  submitting  to  the  will  of  his  medical  adviser, 
whom  he  had  invested  for  the  time  with  sacerdotal  power. 

Hannibal  recovered,  and  became  the  devoted  friend  of  the 
widowed  King, 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  The  youth 

Proceeds  the  paths  of  science  to  explore, 
And  now,  expanded  to  the  beams  of  truth, 
New  energies  and  charms  unknown  before, 
His  mind  discloses."  BEATTIE. 

"  She  had  hair  as  deeply  black 

As  the  cloud  of  thunder; 
She  had  brows  so  beautiful 

And  dark  eyes  flashing  under. 
Bright  and  witty  Southern  girl ! 

Beside  a  mountain's  water, 
I  found  her,  whom  a  king  himself 
Would  proudly  call  his  daughter." 

MARY  HOWITT. 

THE  life  of  a  youth  in  college  is  full  of  monotony.  One 
day  is  an  epitome  of  the  year.  If  he  be  ardent  and  ambitious ; 
if  his  lip  thirst  for  the  dews  of  Castaly,  and  his  spirit  for 
the  groves  of  Academus,  he  may,  like  Marcus,  forget  the  reali 
ties  of  his  condition,  in  the  classic  life  of  his  mind.  Such 
was  his  thirst  for  knowledge,  and  the  rapture  with  which  he 
imbibed  it,  that  it  was  a  perennial  spring  flowing  inward  and 
giving  perpetual  freshness  and  greenness  to  the  intellectual  and 
moral  region.  He  loved  to  embosom  himself  in  the  thick 
oaken  wood  that  surrounded  the  university ;  and  while  he  felt 
the  verdure  of  its  eternal  youth  in  his  own  soul,  he  drank  in 
the  almost  divine  philosophy  of  Plato,  and  wandered  with  him 
in  shades  deep  and  luxuriant  as  his  own.  If  in  his  rambles 
he  met  some  bubbling  spring,  he  found  inspiration  in  its 
waters,  by  associating  them  with  the  fountains  of  Parnassus 
and  the  virgin  Castalidas,  who  drank  of  their  waves. 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  87 

Had  Marcus  isolated  himself  from  his  fellow-students  during 
their  hours  of  recreation,  they  might  have  envied  his  superior 
ity  ;  but  he  mingled  in  their  sports  with  such  hearty  good-will, 
that  he  soon  exercised  over  them  the  same  rare  personal  influ 
ence  he  had  done  on  others.  Though  his  fellowship  with  all 
was  kind  and  courteous,  there  was  only  one  with  whom  he 
had  intimate  and  unreserved  communion.  This  was  a  youth, 
by  the  name  of  George  Delaval,  who,  after  Marcus  had  been 
in  college  a  few  weeks,  evidently  sought  him  out  by  that 
principle  of  elective  affinity  by  which  things  entirely  differ 
ent  are  attracted  towards  each  other.  Delaval  was  a  gay, 
dashing,  don't-care-for-any-thing  kind  of  young  man,  generous 
to  prodigality,  proud,  and  sometimes  overbearing,  but  with  a 
flow  of  animal  spirits  that  made  him  exceedingly  popular 
as  a  social  companion.  That  he  was  very  wealthy  there  was 
no  doubt,  for  he  spilled  his  money  like  grains  of  sand,  regard 
less  where  it  fell.  Knowing  his  reputed  riches  and  proud 
though  reckless  character,  Marcus  would  never  have  mani 
fested  a  desire  for  his  acquaintance ;  but  when  Delaval  showed 
him  the  flattering  distinction  of  seeking  his  society  on  many 
occasions,  Marcus,  with  the  natural  frankness  and  geniality 
of  youth,  opened  his  heart  to  his  advances,  and  soon  conceived 
for  him  a  warm  attachment.  He  had  never  forgot  the  bru 
nette  of  the  fountain,  and  in  a  moment  of  confidence  he 
described  the  meeting  to  Delaval,  and  his  extreme  desire  to 
ascertain  the  name  of  the  dark  little  enchantress.  Delaval 
seemed  excessively  amused  by  the  description  and  the  impres 
sion  she  had  made  on  the  imagination  of  Marcus. 

"I  dare  say  she  is  some  bold  little  vixen,  that  would  flirt 
her  riding-whip  over  your  shoulders  with  as  much  grace  as 
she  splashed  about  the  water,  if  she  had  a  chance,"  said  Dela 
val.  "  I  don't  think  I  should  like  her  at  all.  I  have  no  taste 
for  these  dark  beauties ;  give  me  one  of  your  fair,  blue-eyed, 
gentle  lassies,  that  steal  upon  you  as  insensibly  as  the  dawn 
ing  light.  I  have  no  idea  of  ever  being  taken  by  storm." 

Marcus  could  not  help  thinking  of  his  gentle,  violet-eyed 


88  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

Katy,  while  listening  to  the  description  of  Delaval,  whose 
flashing  black  eyes  mocked  the  lustre  and  the  hue  of  jet.  He 
frequently  regretted  afterward  that  he  had  mentioned  the 
young  incognita  to  his  friend,  for  Mademoiselle  Lightning  be 
came  his  standing  jest,  and  Marcus  felt  as  if  he  had  wronged 
her,  by  exposing  her  to  such  light  ridicule.  He  might  never 
see  her  again — indeed  he  feared  he  should  not ;  but  her  image 
was  traced  on  his  memory,  in  characters  as  vivid  and  thrilling 
as  the  lightning,  whose  name  she  had  sportively  assumed. 

One  evening,  as  he  sat  in  the  recitation-room,  waiting  for 
his  turn  to  be  called  up  by  the  learned  professor,  and  was 
carelessly  turning  over  the  leaves  of  a  book  he  had  carried 
with  him,  a  letter  dropped  to  the  floor.  He  took  it  up,  sup 
posing  it  one  from  his  sister  that  he  had  accidentally  left 
there,  for  he  perceived  that  the  direction  was  in  a  fair,  feminine 
hand ;  but  upon  nearer  inspection  he  saw  that  a  stranger  must 
have  traced  it,  and  the  paper  was  of  a  most  delicate,  transpa 
rent  tissue,  scented  with  the  attar  of  roses.  He  looked  at  the 
seal,  whose  device  was  a  kneeling  figure,  with  lightning  dart 
ing  from  a  cloud  into  its  breast;  the  motto,  La  Lampeggia 
degli  occhi.  With  kindling  curiosity  he  opened  the  envelope, 
and  glancing  at  the  signature,  beheld  the  single  word,  "  Light 
ning."  With  a  burning  blush  he  folded  it  hastily,  and  con 
cealed  it  again  within  the  leaves  of  his  book,  reserving  its  pe 
rusal  for  the  solitude  of  the  thicket.  Delaval,  who  had  ob 
served  the  fallen  note,  the  deep  blush,  and  hurried  concealment 
of  the  paper,  rallied  him  the  moment  he  had  left  the  recitation 
room,  and  insisted  upon  seeing  the  mysterious  envelope. 

"Acknowledge,  Delaval,"  said  he,  "that  it  is  a  practical 
joke  of  your  own,  and  I  will  forgive  you.  You  must  have 
written  this  yourself  to  impose  on  my  credulity,  though  I  ac 
knowledge  you  are  a  greater  master  of  penmanship  than  I  ever 
imagined  you."  Marcus  here  exhibited  the  beautiful  and 
fairy-like  superscription  of  the  letter,  and  again  repeated  to 
Delaval  his  awakened  suspicion. 

"  No,  Warland,"  replied  Delaval,  in  a  more  serious  tone  than 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  89 

lie  usually  used,  "  I  never  wrote  that  letter.  I  may  sport  in 
words  to  amuse  a  passing  moment;  but  I  think  you  ought  to 
know  me  better  than  to  suppose  I  would  be  guilty  of  such  a 
silly  girl's  trick  as  you  accuse  me  of." 

"Nay,  be  not  angry,"  said  Marcus.  "We  college  boys  do 
so  many  foolish  things,  we  ought  never  to  be  offended  at  any 
charge.  It  is  certainly  very  mysterious,  very  surprising.  I 
never  mentioned  her  to  any  one  but  yourself.  How  it  came 
within  the  leaves  of  my  book  I  cannot  divine ;  unless,"  he 
added,  "  if  you  did  not  write  the  letter,  you  acted  the  part  of 
the  carrier-dove,  and  dropped  it  from  your  wings  into  my  book. 
I  am  sure  it  is  a  very  innocent  jest,  and  I  forgive  you  for  it." 

"  I  will  accept  your  forgiveness  when  I  have  earned  it,  War- 
land,  by  playing  the  foolish  part  you  see  fit  to  have  assigned 
me,"  answered  Delaval,  in  a  somewhat  haughty  and  offended 
tone ;  "  you  must  think  yourself  of  more  consequence  than 
you  are  authorized,  to  imagine  that  /  should  trouble  myself 
about  such  a  wild-goose  fancy.  Is  it  what  you  would  expect 
from  me,  Warland  ?" 

"  No,  Delaval,"  answered  Marcus,  with  a  candid  blush;  "I 
must  again  ask  you  to  excuse  my  charging  you  with  an  office 
so  idle,  on  the  plea  of  my  extreme  bewilderment.  I  am  con 
vinced  now,  that  you  have  had  nothing  to  do  with  it ;  then 
who  could  have  been  the  bearer?" 

"  Well,  Warland,  if  you  are  a  brilliant  scholar  and  a  blithe 
companion,  you  are  withal  the  most  stupid  fellow  I  ever  beheld, 
to  prate  about  the  why  and  the  how  the  letter  of  a  young  lady 
came  into  your  possession,  without  having  interest  enough  to 
peruse  its  contents.  If  I  were  the  favoured  mortal,  I  should 
have  torn  the  paper  into  inch  pieces  before  this,  in  my  fiery 
impatience." 

"  Its  contents  are  sacred,  whatever  they  may  be,  from  boy 
ish  levity.  You  will  excuse  me  for  reading  them  alone."  The 
accents  of  grave  rebuke  that  fell  from  the  lips  of  Marcus  were 
drowned  in  the  gush  of  laughter  that  followed  them,  from  hia 
wild  companion.  Plunging  into  the  thickest  part  of  tho 


90  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

grove,  and  feeling  himself  alone  with  nature,  he  unfolded  again 
the  mysterious  letter,  and  no  longer  doubted  its  genuineness. 
"  MASTER  MARCUS  WARLAND — As  the  lightning  darteth 
from  the  east,  and  shineth  unto  the  west,  and  thou  knowest 
not  whence  it  cometh  nor  whither  it  goeth,"  began  his  un 
known  correspondent,  "  so  do  the  electric  rays  of  thought, 
flashing  from  one  mind  to  another,  instantaneously  traverse 
intervening  space,  though  mountains  may  rise,  and  oceans  roll 
between.  Compare  me  not,  I  pray  thee,  to  the  destroying 
bolt,  that  furrows  the  black  storm-cloud  with  its  burning 
ploughshare,  but  to  those  lambent  fires  that  sport  harmlessly 
round  the  evening  horizon,  brilliant  but  innocuous.  Thou  art 
ambitious.  Well,  be  it  so.  Ambition  is  a  glorious  passion 
in  a  man.  Foolish  girl  that  I  am — I  am  ambitious  too.  Were 
I  a  boy,  I  would  climb  the  Jura  peaks  of  literature,  nor  stop  till 
I  reached  the  sun-clad  summit  of  Mont  Blanc.  No  yawning 
chasms  beneath  could  appal  me — no  glacial  heights  above  de 
ter  me  from  ascending.  Thou  wilt  win  the  highest  honours 
offered  to  the  candidate  of  classic  fame.  Aspiring  youth  ! — 
who  can  dare  all,  and  attain  all.  Such  is  thy  own  bold  lan 
guage.  But  knowest  thou  not,  that  there  are  some  things 
beyond  the  reach  of  human  ambition,  all  lofty  and  glorious  as 
it  is  ?  Canst  thou  catch  the  lightning's  chain,  and  imprison  it 
in  thy  grasp,  even  when  it  plays  around  thy  fingers,  and  scin 
tillates  before  thine  eyes  ?  Thou  wonderest  why  I  address 
thee.  Thou  wonderest  how  these  random  rays  have  glanced 
into  the  pages  of  thy  book.  Seek  not  to  know,  for  thou  canst 
not  discover.  As  well  mightest  thou  attempt  to  separate  the 
drops  I  scattered  over  thy  hyacinthine  locks  from  the  waters 
of  the  fountain ;  as  well  mightest  thou  seek  to  stay  the  vanish 
ing  tints  of  the  rainbow,  when  the  cloud  fades  away,  as  to  tell 
whence  I  come,  and  whither  I  go.  Press  on,  Marcus  War- 
land,  with  thine  eye  steadfastly  fixed  on  those  victorious  ho 
nours  thou  so  proudly  claimest ;  and  though  perchance  invisi 
ble  to  thee,  I  shall  be  there  to  behold  thee  when  they  twine 
the  laurel  garland  round  thy  brow.  LIGHTNING." 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  91 

Spellbound  over  the  magic  lines,  which  he  again  and  again 
perused,  the  boy  sat,  unconscious  of  the  sinking  of  the  sun  or 
the  gathering  of  the  night-shades.  The  letter  was  from  her,  the 
electric  girl  of  the  fountain,  for  to  no  one  but  her  had  he  ut 
tered  the  presumptuous  words,  "  He  could  dare  all,  and  attain 
all."  To  no  one  but  her  had  he  boasted  of  the  prize  he  was 
resolved  to  win.  She  had  remembered  him — she  had  winged 
her  thoughts  to  him,  how  he  knew  not — either  by  the 
sunbeams  of  heaven  or  the  spirits  of  the  air,  or  by  some  invisi 
ble  wire  strung  from  her  heart  to  his.  A  mantling  glow  of 
delight  suffused  his  whole  being.  There  was  a  romance,  a 
mystery  in  the  matter  that  charmed  and  excited  him.  She 
was  henceforth  the  Egeria  of  his  destiny,  who  was  to  lead  him 
on  to  glory  and  renown.  He  placed  the  letter  in  his  bosom, 
where  it  was  warmed  by  the  pulsations  of  his  quickened  heart ; 
and  warned  by  the  loud  ringing  of  the  bell,  returned  to  his 
lodgings. 

"  Well,  do  you  think  I  am  the  father  of  that  precious  mor- 
ceau  now  ?"  asked  Delaval,  in  a  mocking  voice. 

"No,  I  do  not,  Delaval.  It  is  impossible  you  should  have 
written  it." 

"  You  will,  of  course,  indulge  me  with  a  perusal,"  added 
Delaval,  holding  out  his  hand  with  a  careless  confidence  that 
the  request  would  be  granted. 

"  Though  there  is  nothing  in  the  letter  that  an  angel  might 
not  have  penned,  the  lines  traced  by  a  female  hand,  when  the 
motive  seems  as  pure  as  actuates  the  writer  of  these,  should 
be  sacred  from  the  gaze  of  curiosity.  Even  if  it  be  mere 
girlish  whim,  as  doubtless  it  is,  in  my  keeping  it  should  be 
considered  holy." 

"  You  are  right,  "Warland.  You  have  the  true  spirit  of  a 
knight.  Why,  what  an  admirable  Crichton  you  are !  The 
vaunted  Scot  revives  again  in  you." 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  emulate  his  fame,"  said  Marcus,  "  to 
have  the  bale-fire  of  envy  scorching  my  two  clustering  laurels, 
and  to  perish  at  last  by  the  dagger  of  the  midnight  assassin." 


92  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

"  You  are  a  second  Crichton,"  persisted  Delaval,  "  and  I 
have  no  doubt  you  will  be  poniarded  one  of  these  days.  You 
had  better  wear  a  coat  of  mail  under  your  garments." 

"  I  will,  if  it  will  shield  me  from  the  shafts  of  ridicule," 
answered  Marcus,  with  rising  anger. 

"  Kidicule !"  exclaimed  Delaval,  grasping  his  hand  and 
shaking  it  vehemently.  "  By  the  shade  of  Cicero,  I  never  was 
more  serious  in  my  life.  You  have  the  prospect  of  making  a 
great  many  enemies ;  but  as  true  as  there  is  a  silver  moon  in 
yonder  sky,  you  have  one  true  and  sincere  friend." 

Marcus  believed  so.  It  was,  impossible  to  doubt  the  truth 
of  Delaval,  when  he  spoke  with  seriousness.  Marcus  was  mor 
bidly  sensitive  to  the  idea  of  flattery.  He  could  not  bear  to 
be  complimented  on  his  personal  beauty.  He  courted  the  tan 
ning  sun  and  the  darkening  wind,  but  his  cheek  would  be  fair. 
He  tried  to  keep  down  the  rich  waves  of  his  curling  hair,  but 
they  would  wander  around  his  brow.  Some  ventured  to  call 
him  the  "  Lady  of  the  College,"  as  they  did  Milton  in  former 
days,  who  was  also  distinguished  for  the  sunny  rimples  of  his 
flowing  locks.  Once,  as  he  was  passing  through  the  grove,  he 
heard  a  jesting  voice  behind  the  trees,  address  him  by  this,  to 
him,  unspeakably  odious  title.  The  dazzling  defiance  of  the 
eye,  the  breathing  scorn  of  the  lip  warned  the  offender  that 
man's  proudest,  loftiest  spirit  dwelt  in  that  youthful  bosom ; 
and  that  he  could  not  be  insulted  with  impunity,  as  his  athle 
tic  feats  in  the  gymnasium  well  showed. 

It  was  a  great  mortification  to  Marcus  that  he  could  not  an 
swer  the  letter  of  the  young  incognita.  He  knew  not  to  whom 
or  where  to  address  a  reply;  and  baffled  on  every  side,  he 
chafed  with  impatience  under  a  mystery  he  could  not  unravel. 
But  though  he  could  not  address  his  excited  thoughts  to  her 
who  was  now  the  inspiration  of  his  ambitious  hopes,  he  threw 
them  on  paper,  in  the  solitude  of  his  room,  in  glowing  prose, 
or  reckless  numbers.  One  evening,  after  a  most  magnificent 
thunder-shower,  he  seized  his  pen  and  wrote  the  following 
tines : — 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  93 

Oh !  not  for  me  the  sunny  ray 
That  gilds  the  day-god's  noonday  throne, 

Nor  yet  the  moonbeam's  silvery  play 
On  quiet  bower  and  streamlet  lone. 

Be  mine  the  lightning's  arrowy  gleam, 

Though  death  be  lurking  in  its  dart, 
I'd  lurk  beneath  the  scorching  beam, 

And  bind  it  burning  to  my  heart. 

I'll  climb  the  mountain  steep  of  fame 

And  round  my  brow  its  laurels  twine ; 
'Tis  but  to  grasp  the  electric  flame, 

And  make  its  radiant  glories  mine. 

I  care  not  if  the  bolt  consume 

The  daring  hands  that  mock  its  power, 
Love  shall  the  sacrifice  ilrame, 

And  triumph  crown  life's  latest  hour. 

Throwing  down  his  pen  and  extinguishing  his  light,  he  sat 
in  the  window  till  a  late  hour,  watching  the  play  of  the  elec 
tricity  on  the  retreating  vapours,  flashing  from  cloud  to  cloud 
like  fiery  shuttlecocks  tossed  by  invisible  hands  across  the  fir 
mament.  It  was  not  till  after  his  hurried  return  from  prayers 
the  following  morning,  that  he  remembered  the  impassioned 
strains  he  had  left  upon  the  table.  He  looked  for  them,  but 
they  were  gone.  He  turned  every  book  upside  down  and  flut 
tered  every  leaf,  but  in  vain.  He  emptied  his  portfolio,  but 
with  no  better  success.  The  same  invisible  hand  that  had 
borne  him  the  mysterious  letter  had  probably  spirited  away 
his  bold  stanzas.  For  one  moment  he  was  tempted  to  believe 
in  the  supernatural,  and  that  the  dark,  bright  nymph  of  the 
fountain  was  really  embodied  lightning,  who  made  the  clouds 
her  chariot,  and  whose  steeds  were  the  wings  of  the  wind. 

It  was  not  till  after  his  return  from  Bellamy  Place,  where 
he  passed  the  summer  vacation,  that  he  heard  again  from  the 
incognita.  In  the  delight  of  meeting  once  more  his  beloved  bene 
factors,  his  lovely  sister,  and  faithful  nurse,  he  had  thought 
less  of  his  romantic  correspondent;  and  even  on  his  return  her 
image  was  secondary  in  'his  mind.  He  was  not  to  visit  Bellamy 
Place  again  till  his  graduation,  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bellamy, 
accompanied  by  Katy,  were  to  come  themselves,  to  escort  him 
home.  Marcus  had  not  forgotten  the  ruby  ring,  the  parting 


94  MARCUS  WARLAND;  on, 

gift  of  his  benefactress ;  and  not  a  day  passed  that  he  did  not 
gaze  upon  its  sparkling  crimson,  and  renew  the  vow  he  had 
breathed  in  the  ferryman's  hut  and  on  the  margin  of  the  Long 
Moss  Spring. 

The  morning  after  his  arrival,  as  he  approached  the  table, 
where  many  a  ponderous  tome  was  laid,  he  perceived  the  fra 
grance  of  roses  in  the  atmosphere,  and  looking  down  beheld 
the  same  delicate  tissue  directed  to  him  by  the  same  fairy 
hand.  This  time  the  device  on  the  seal  was  an  eagle  grasping 
a  thunderbolt  in  its  talons,  the  motto,  Je  vaincs  ouje  meurs. 

"  I  wrote  for  the  amusement  of  an  idle  hour,"  resumed  the 
singular  sprite.  "I  wrote  because  the  bold  promptings  of 
your  ambition  corresponded  so  well  to  the  eagle  nights  of  my 
own  wild  spirit.  I  did  not  think  you  were  weak  enough  to 
prate  about  love,  that  silly  jest  of  the  school-boy,  that  time- 
worn  theme  of  the  brain-sick  bard.  You  have  taught  me  my 
folly  in  supposing  you  above  the  rest  of  your  kind.  Climb  the 
mountain  steep,  twine  the  laurels  round  your  brow,  but  beware 
of  that  electric  flame  your  rash  hands  would  vainly  grasp. 
Farewell ;  this  is  the  last  time  the  nymph  of  the  fountain  will 
breathe  her  accents  in  your  ear.  The  wild  impulse  that  guided 
her  pen  may  be  deemed  bold  and  unfeminine  by  those  who 
understand  her  not. 

"Attempt  to  grasp  the  lightning's  chain 
And  bind  it  burning  round  thy  brain, 
The  fiery  garland  will  not  prove 
More  evanescent  than  thy  love. 

Man's  vows  upon  the  sand  are  traced, 
By  every  passing  wind  effaced ; 
That  wind  doth  not  more  idly  rove, 
More  coldly  sport,  than  human  love. 

Oh  !  rather  be  the  waves  my  stay, 
The  cloud  on  which  the  lightnings  play, 
The  summer  gales  that  idly  rove, 
And  coldly  change,  than  human  love. 

LIGHTNING." 

This  was  indeed  her  last  communication.  In  vain  he  poured 
out  his  soul  in  flowing  numbers  and  in  flashing  sentences ;  no 
fairy  messenger  bore  them  to  her  who  inspired;  no  rose- 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  95 

scented  epistles  hereafter  diffused  around  his  room  the  balmy 
breath  of  Paradise. 

The  time  drew  near  when  the  honours  of  graduation  were  to 
be  distributed,  and  when  it  was  announced  that  Marcus  had 
won  the  first,  the  intelligence  was  received  with  acclamations. 
The  second  was  awarded  to  Delaval,  whose  popularity  was 
manifested  in  a  similar  manner.  Marcus  was  not  elated  by 
his  success — a  success  so  easily  attained.  He  felt  within  him 
capabilities  to  win  so  much  more  exalted  honours,  that  this 
seemed  but  boy's  sport  to  him.  Still,  when  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Bellamy  arrived,  and  warmly  congratulated  him  and  Katy, 
now  a  most  lovely  and  interesting  girl  of  seventeen  years,  with 
a  cheek  fair  as  the  magnolia's  waxen  petals,  and  eyes  whose 
modest  violets  still  sought  the  ground,  but  looked  up  to  him  with 
such  rejoicing  pride,  he  could  not  but  exult  a  little  for  xheir 
sakes  in  the  distinction  allotted  him. 

Delaval,  too  generous  to  cherish  envy,  was  perfectly  satisfied 
with  the  position  assigned  to  himself,  and  certainly  divided  with 
Marcus  the  laurels  of  the  day. 

The  night  before  commencement,  while  Delaval  was  sitting 
with  Marcus  and  his  friends,  enlivening  them  with  his  gay  and 
graceful  nonsense,  he  was  called  out  by  a  servant.  Returning  to 
make  his  apolpgy  for  departing,  he  said  to  Marcus  at  the  door : 

"  Some  friends  of  mine  are  arrived.  Distant  acquaintances, 
perhaps,  still  they  claim  some  politeness  from  me,  and  I  may 
not  see  you  till  we  meet  before  the  Professores  illustrissimi, 
doctissimi,  who  are  to  sit  sublimely  round  us,  with  their  black 
robes  and  solemn  faces." 

Marcus,  whose  part  being  first  in  honour,  was  last  in  time, 
felt  at  leisure  to  survey  the  throng  that  had  gathered  in  the 
hall,  till  it  was  crowded  to  overflowing.  Amid  the  brilliant 
array  of  beauty  that  beamed  upon  his  gaze,  the  pure,  sweet 
face  of  his  sister  shone  with  transcendent  loveliness.  Dressed 
in  unadorned  white,  the  fitting  attire  of  virgin  innocence,  she 
Bought  no  eye  but  her  brother's,  though  many  an  admiring 
glance  was  levelled  at  her. 


96  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

"  She  is  not  here,"  said  Marcus  to  himself,  "  that  strange, 
capricious  being,  who  for  a  while  made  me  her  plaything.  I 
am  glad  of  it.  She  might  perchance  talk  to  me  even  as  she 
wrote,  to  beguile  an  idle  hour ;  and  if  I  presumed  to  measure 
with  her  her  own  bright  weapons,  she  would  curl  her  saucy 
lips,  wave  her  haughty  hand,  and  remind  me  of  the  reverence 
due  to  her  imperial  little  highness." 

Why  did  Marcus  arrest  these  rather  ungrateful  thoughts, 
and  bend  forward  with  a  quickened  pulse  and  a  heightened 
colour  ?  The  crowd  fell  back  from  the  door,  and  leaning  on 
the  arm  of  a  very  dignified  gentleman,  appeared  the  brunette 
of  the  fountain — the  capricious  incognita — the  fairy  of  the 
pen.  He  recognised  at  one  glance,  the  dark,  resplendent 
countenance  of  the  embodied  Lightning,  and  so  great  was  his 
excitement,  that  had  it  been  his  turn  to  speak,  he  could  not 
have  uttered  one  sellable.  She  looked  taller  and  less  slight, 
though  not  above  the  medium  height,  and  her  whole  costume 
exhibited  the  exuberance  of  wealth  and  the  redundance  of 
fashion.  There  was  a  sparkling  of  jewelry  about  her  neck 
and  arms  that  reminded  one  of  the  starry  adornments  of  even 
ing,  and  a  glitter  of  black,  shining  ringlets  on  her  cheeks  and 
shoulders  that  threw  back  the  sunbeams  which  followed  in  her 
track  as  she  moved  from  the  door.  Delaval  had  just  risen  to 
make  the  salutatory  address  as  this  brilliant  vision  passed 
along,  and  had  scarcely  made  his  low  obeisance  to  the  various 
dignitaries  of  the  college  when  she  took  her  seat.  Marcus 
noticed  that  her  eye  was  eagerly  turned  towards  the  speaker, 
and  that  she  said  something  to  her  dignified  companion,  which 
also  directed  7m  attention  to  Delaval,  and  that  they  both  list 
ened  with  marked  attention  to  his  animated  elocution.  The 
only  thing  that  gave  to  the  face  of  Delaval  the  character  of 
beauty,  was  a  pair  of  very  expressive  black  eyes ;  and  he  did 
not  excel  in  those  light  graces  of  oratory  which  captivate  the 
stranger's  eye.  His  oration,  though  written  in  pure  and  beau 
tiful  Latin,  Marcus  hardly  supposed  Mademoiselle  Lightning 
*ould  understand.  Yet,  it  was  evident  she  was  pleased  with 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  97 

his  appearance,  interested  in  his  oratory,  and  when  he  con 
cluded,  an  approving  smile  irradiated  her  countenance.  Had 
she  seen  and  recognised  himself?  Once  he  thought  he  felt 
her  eyebeams  burning  on  his  own,  and  that  a  mocking  smile 
flitted  across  her  lips.  Then  she  turned  to  the  window  near 
which  she  was  seated,  and  played  with  the  leaves  that  fluttered 
against  her  ringlets.  Marcus  by  this  time  had  recovered  from 
the  dazzling  effect  of  this  apparition,  and  resolved  not  to  op 
press  her  by  the  fixedness  of  his  gaze.  Should  she  meet  him 
with  haughtiness  and  repulsion,  he  could  be  as  haughty  and 
repelling  as  herself.  He  was  not  blinded  by  her  wealth,  nor 
awed  by  her  state,  nor  would  he  be  wounded  by  her  caprice. 
What  kind  of  recognition  Marcus  expected  it  would  be  diffi 
cult  to  tell.  He  .could  not  be  envious  of  the  interest  the  very 
spirited  and  manly  oration  of  Delaval  had  elicited  from  her. 
He  was  incapable  of  the  meanness  of  envy.  Was  it  jealousy? 
Very  lofty  and  noble  minds  are  sometimes  misguided  by  its 
influence,  and  injustice  is  sure  to  follow  in  its  train.  When 
the  exercises  were  suspended  at  noon  he  lost  sight  of  her,  while 
he  sought  his  sister,  who  sat  in  another  part  of  the  hall.  But 
while  walking  through  the  grove  towards  the  president's  house, 
where  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bellamy  were  invited  to  dine,  he  saw  his 
incognita  considerably  in  advance,  in  company  with  her  tall 
guardian,  and  Delaval  was  walking  on  the  other  side  of  her,  evi 
dently  engaged  in  earnest  conversation.  How  eagerly  had  he 
sought  an  introduction  !  how  favourably  had  he  been  received  ! 
Remembering  what  he  had  said  for  his  indifference  to  dark 
beauties,  and  his  admiration  for  blondes,  he  could  not  help 
thinking  that  his  own  fair  sister  would  be  more  likely  to  cap 
tivate  his  imagination  than  this  dark-haired  maiden. 

During  dinner  he  heard  merry  remarks  made  upon  the  bright 
young  stranger,  but  no  one  seemed  to  know  her  name  or  loca 
lity.  He  also  heard  many  encomiums  passed  on  the  talents 
and  elocution  of  Delaval,  which,  in  spite  of  the  little  twinge 
of  jealousy  he  had  caused,  gave  him  sincere  and  heartfelt 

pleasure. 

58 


98  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

When  they  returned  to  the  hall  in  the  evening,  Marcus  be 
held  Lightning  (for  thus  he  was  constrained  to  call  her) 
already  seated  by  the  same  window,  whose  shade-tree  made 
beautiful  lattice-work  over  the  casement.  She  sat  apart  from 
the  other  ladies,  evidently  a  stranger  to  all,  and  as  evidently 
wishing  to  remain  so.  Once  more  he  met  her  recognising 
glance,  illumined  by  the  same  bright,  haughty  smile,  and  again 
the  light  leaves  were  broken  off  recklessly,  and  strewed  upon 
the  window-sill. 

Before  the  commencement  of  the  exercises,  while  the  band 
was  playing  the  inspiring  national  air  of  "  Hail  Columbia," 
Delaval  came  upon  the  platform  and  seated  himself  at  his  side. 

"Why,  Warland,  Marcus  Warland,"  said  he,  in  his  lowest 
tone,  "  do  you  not.  recognise  your  mysterious  friend  ?  Why 
have  you  not  sought  her,  and  acknowledged  the  signal  honours 
she  has  conferred  upon  you  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  you  have  more  than  supplied  my  place  by  the 
eagerness  with  which  you  have  claimed  an  introduction,  and 
ingratiated  yourself  in  her  favour." 

"  Now,  Marcus  Warland,  don't  be  jealous  of  me,  I  pray 
you.  I  knew  this  fair  damsel  before,  and  am  only  renewing 
an  old  acquaintance." 

"  You  knew  her,  Delaval  ?  Why  was  this  kept  so  secret  from 
me  ?  It  seems  very  inconsistent  with  your  usual  frankness." 

"  How,  in  the  name  of  wonder,  could  I  identify  the  enchant 
ress  of  the  fountain,  whom  you  depicted  in  such  oriental  tints, 
with  this  very  clever,  but  not  at  all  beautiful  brunette  ?  And 
how  could  I  be  aware  of  her  freak  of  calling  herself  by  the 
odd  name  of  Lightning?" 

"  How,  indeed,"  said  Marcus,  laughing,  and  relieved  by  the 
frank,  natural  manner  of  Delaval.  "  I  hope  you  will  give  me 
an  introduction  after  we  receive  our  diplomas,  or  rather  Tier, 
for  she  has  the  advantage  of  me,  and  knows  me  by  my  proper 
patronymic  already.  What  is  her  real  name  ?" 

"  It  is  the  most  ridiculous  thing  in  the  world,"  cried  Dela 
val,  "  but  the  little  witch  has  made  me  promise  not  to  reveal 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  99 

her  real  name,  and  to  introduce  her  by  the  strange  soubriquet 
she  has  assumed.  Only,  with  another  of  her  unaccountable 
whims,  she  has  Frenchified  it  to  L' eclair,  le  nom  Francois  for 
Lightning.  She  is  the  most  original,  arbitrary,  and  self-willed 
of  human  beings;  of  this  I  give  you  fair  warning.  Accus 
tomed  to  rule  every  one  that  comes  within  the  circle  of  her 
influence,  she  is  despotic  as  the  autocrat  of  Russia.  You  will 
meet  her  at  the  ball  to-night,  given  in  honour  of  our  illustrious 
class,  where  she  and  your  beautiful  sister  will  represent  the 
brilliant  night  and  fair  aurora  of  the  South." 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  have  bowed  to  her  arbitrary  sway  yet  ?" 
"  No,  indeed ;  I  am  too  fond  of  dominion  myself.  I  havo 
told  you  of  my  belle  ideal,  and  it  does  not  resemble  her.  Do 
not,  however,  imagine  that  I  think  heY  destitute  of  fine  quali 
ties,  because  I  speak  frankly  of  her  faults.  She  is  generous, 
warm-hearted,  and,  I  should  think,  capable  of  great  sacrifice 
for  those  she  loves." 

The  serious  tone  in  which  the  last  words  were  uttered,  and 
the  look  of  deep  interest  he  cast  towards  the  young  brunette, 
who  was  sitting  in  an  attitude  of  careless,  inimitable  grace, 
convinced  Marcus  that  he  felt  for  her  a  far  greater  admiration 
than  he  was  willing  to  avow.  The  conversation  ceased,  for  the 
youthful  candidates  for  fame  were  already  on  the  floor,  in  all 
the  artificial  glow  of  a  forensic  disputation.  At  length,  all  had 
performed  their  allotted  parts  but  he  who  wore  the  crowning 
honour  of  the  day.  Marcus  was  not  bashful,  but  he  was  mo 
dest.  He  had  too  much  self-reliance  to  have  a  dread  of  failure, 
but  the  audible  murmur  of  admiration  that  followed  his  grace 
ful  salutation  brought  the  rushing  blood  to  his  cheek  and  bent 
his  glances  momentarily  downward.  The  full,  black,  flowing 
silk  robes  of  the  students  invested  their  persons  with  a  kind 
of  Roman  dignity  and  grace  while  they  were  speaking,  which 
their  usual  dress  could  not  impart.  Marcus,  who  was  now 
nineteen,  had  the  full  height  and  proportions  of  manhood,  and 
notwithstanding  the  fairness  of  his  complexion  and  the  almost 
girlish  profusion  of  his  sunbright  hair,  there  was  an  air  of 


100  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

manliness  and  resolution,  an  expression  of  great  mental  power, 
combined  with  the  warmth  of  latent  passion  breathing  in  his 
face,  that  redeemed  it  at  once  from  the  charge  of  effeminacy. 
He  had  that  greatest  of  all  charms  in  an  orator,  perhaps  it 
might  be  said  in  any  man  or  woman,  a  full,  clear,  sweet,  and 
mellow  voice,  more  deep  than  loud,  and  whose  lowest  tones 
could  be  distinctly  heard  in  the  remotest  corner  of  the  hall. 
Marcus  felt  that  the  approving,  glistening  eyes  of  his  beloved 
benefactress  and  his  revered  benefactor  were  resting  upon  him ; 
that  his  sister  was  gazing  upon  him  with  love  and  pride ;  that 
the  venerable  president  and  learned  professors  were  bending 
upon  him  looks  of  beaming  approbation.  He  felt  all  this,  for 
his  mind  was  clear  from  embarrassment,  and  he  took  in  the  scene, 
of  which  he  was  now  the  centre,  in  all  its  length  and  breadth 
and  bearings.  But  there  was  something  he  felt  even  more. 
There  was  one  face,  that,  like  a  burning-glass,  seemed  to  draw 
all  the  rays  of  thought,  all  the  emanations  of  feeling;  and  the 
figure  to  which  that  face  belonged  might  have  sat  as  a  model 
to  the  statuary  who  wished  to  personify  the  genius  of  atten 
tion.  Yes,  the  spell  was  upon  her.  With  her  head  slightly 
raised,  the  wild  foliage  of  her  ringlets  swept  back  from  her 
brow,  and  the  crimson  bloom  of  excitement  on  her  cheek,  she 
followed  every  word  of  the  youthful  and  inspiring  orator,  from 
his  graceful  exordium  to  the  close  of  his  splendid  effort,  in 
the  midst  of  the  most  enthusiastic  and  reiterated  bursts  of  ap 
plause.  Marcus  withdrew  from  the  forum,  but  just  as  he  was 
making  his  last  bow,  a  hand,  unseen  in  the  dense  crowd,  threw 
a  chaplet  of  evergreen  at  his  feet.  Bending  down  he  raised 
this  classic  token  of  victorious  honour,  and  twining  it  round 
his  arm,  instead  of  wreathing  with  it  his  glowing  brow,  he  dis 
appeared  from  the  gaze  of  the  audience.  So  signal  a  triumph 
had  never  been  won  in  the  walls  of  the  university;  and  after 
the  parchments  were  all  distributed,  and  the  students  dismissed, 
his  classmates  gathered  round  him,  and  with  the  generous  en 
thusiasm  of  youth,  warmly  congratulated  him  on  his  well- 
earned  fame.  Delaval,  giving  his  hand  a  real  tourniquet 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  101 

squeeze,  declared  he  was  a  "glorious  fellow,"  and  "an  honour 
to  the  South."  "And  take  my  advice,  Warland,"  added  he, 
confidentially,  "glorify  yourself  a  little,  and  if  a  certain  young 
witch  should  put  on  any  airs  to-night,  deport  yourself  right 
royally;  let  her  feel  that  you  know  your  own  value." 

"  He  certainly  feels  a  deep  interest  in  that  quarter,"  thought 
Marcus,  but  he  said  nothing.  The  sun  was  then  but  a  crim 
son  arc  on  the  horizon,  and  he  required  rest  before  the  hilarity 
of  the  evening  commenced.  The  day  had  been  sultry  and  op 
pressive,  even  in  the  open  air,  much  more  so  in  the  crowded 
walls  he  had  just  quitted.  But  as  usual  in  southern  lati 
tudes,  a  soft,  cool  breeze  came  stealing  over  the  dewy  grass, 
reviving  the  languid  spirit,  and  preparing  it  for  new  enj  oyment. 

Marcus  was  emphatically  the  lion  of  the  night,  and  what 
ever  higher  distinctions  he  attained  in  after  life,  he  certainly 
looked  back  to  this  evening  as  the  most  brilliant  epoch  of  his 
youth.  He  was  not  vain  or  elated.  He  has  arrived  at  no 
eminence  he  had  not  fully  expected  to  attain,  for  he  had  a  full, 
rejoicing  consciousness  of  his  own  powers,  and  he  knew,  if  he 
kept  them  free  from  pollution,  and  healthy  and  vigorous  from 
exercise,  they  were  capable  of  any  exertion  he  would  be  called 
upon  to  make.  From  earliest  childhood,  when  asked  if  he 
could  do  any  thing,  the  ready,  unhesitating  answer  was,  "  I 
can."  And  the  earnest  purpose,  the  brave  resolve,  the  firm 
yet  modest  confidence,  were  expressed  in  every  feature  of  his 
face,  in  every  movement  of  his  form.  It  was  this  invincible 
self-reliance,  this  soul-felt  strength,  that  gave  an  energy,  a  vi 
tality  and  living  warmth  to  his  character,  and  diffused  around 
him  an  atmosphere  of  light  and  joy.  Never  had  Marcus 
known  but  one  hour  of  despair,  and  that  was  the  morning  after 
his  father's  perjury,  when  he  bowed  his  young  head  over  the 
Long  Moss  Spring,  and  mingled  his  bitter  tears  with  its  wa 
ters.  And  then,  when  that  father  came,  and,  sitting  down  by 
him  in  penitence  and  humiliation,  told  him  of  his  heaven-ap 
pointed  mission,  the  magic  words  "lean — I  will,"  rang  likt. 
an  ancient  war-cry  of  victory  in  his  ears,  and  led  him  on  to  a 


102  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

triumphant  future.  The  girl  of  the  fountain  had  cast  a  be 
wildering  influence  over  him,  and  for  a  little  while  he  doubted 
his  own  power  over  elements  so  strange  and  apparently  inhar 
monious  as  hers;  but  now,  since  he  had  seen  her  mind  mag 
netized  by  his,  swaying  in  his  breath  of  eloquence,  as  the  leafy 
branch  in  the  rushing  wind,  when  he  repeated  to  himself  the 
interrogation  she  herself  had  made,  "  Canst  thou  seize  the 
lightning's  chain,  and  imprison  it  in  thy  grasp  ?" — he  could 
answer  with  the  same  conquering,  unconquerable  resolution, 
"  I  can — I  will."  L'eclair  sat  at  the  upper  end  of  the  hall,  in 
the  full  blaze  of  the  chandelier,  and  she  well  represented  the 
night  of  "  starry  climes  and  cloudless  skies."  The  style  of 
her  dress  was  more  juvenile  than  that  she  had  worn  during  the 
day,  though  more  showy  than  the  maidens  that  surrounded  her. 
It  was  of  some  exquisitely-transparent  texture,  while  the  bril 
liant  rubies  on  her  neck  and  arms  suited  well  the  rich  dark 
ness  of  her  complexion.  Marcus  immediately  approached  her, 
and  requested  her  hand  for  the  opening  dance.  He  asked  it 
with  a  smiling  assurance  of  welcome,  and  certainly  was  not 
repulsed.  So  quickly  the  music  commenced,  and  they  were 
called  upon  to  take  their  places  on  the  floor,  there  was  no  em 
barrassing  pause,  after  the  first  frank  greeting.  The  head  of 
the  dance  was  yielded  to  Marcus,  as  a  compliment  to  one 
whose  initials  were  traced  in  green  leaves,  within  an  oaken 
garland,  on  the  wall.  Marcus  excelled  in  the  graceful  art  of 
dancing,  and  no  nymph  of  the  wood,  no  naiad  of  the  stream, 
no  muse  of  Parnassian  bowers,  ever  possessed  more  of  the 
music,  the  poetry,  the  eloquence  of  motion,  than  the  wild  and 
spirited  L'eclair.  Her  movements  seemed  to  flow  into  each 
other,  like  the  moonlight  waves,  gently,  undulatingly ;  yet 
one  felt  when  gazing,  that  there  was  a  bounding  will,  a  latent 
strength,  like  those  waves  when  driven  by  the  storm.  The 
same  figure,  that  moved  with  such  measured  grace,  obeying 
the  mandates  of  music,  might  spring  like  the  antelope,  and 
fly  like  the  deer,  in  the  freedom  of  the  forest  and  the  plain. 
When  they  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  dance,  while  the  band 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  103 

kept  up  their  exhilarating  strains,  Marcus  turned  to  his  partner, 
who,  instead  of  panting  with  flushed  cheeks,  as  most  of  the 
young  maidens  did  after  their  flight  through  the  hall,  appeared 
as  calm  and  unwearied  as  a  bird  just  lighted  on  a  spray. 

"  Now  let  me  thank  you  for  the  honour  you  have  conferred 
upon  me,"  said  he — "  an  honour,  I  assure  you,  that  has  not 
been  lightly  prized." 

"  How  can  you  consider  that  an  honour,"  she  carelessly  an 
swered,  "  which  I  should  have  been  obliged  to  bestow  on  any 
young  gentleman  in  the  room,  who  first  requested  it?" 

"  I  do  not  allude  to  the  dance.  I  do  not  consider  that  in 
the  light  of  an  honour,  but  a  pleasure.  No  young  lady  would 
have  refused  my  hand ;  so  if  there  be  any  honour,  it  is  con 
ferred  on  her  who  was  selected  first,  in  a  group  so  fair  as  this." 

"  Really,  fair  sir,  you  seem  to  appreciate  your  attentions  very 
highly.  Do  you  imagine  others  attach  to  them  the  same  value  ?" 

"  I  think  you  would  have  been  disappointed,  if  I  had  not 
sought  the  earliest  opportunity  of  acknowledging  my  obliga 
tions  to  the  inspiring  genius  of  the  fountain,  to  her  who 
writes  with  the  lightning's  pen,  and  makes  viewless  messen 
gers  the  vassals  of  her  will." 

"  Thanks  are  oppressive  when  unmerited  and  undesired," 
she  replied,  assuming  an  air  of  haughty  reserve.  "  You  owe 
me  no  gratitude,  for  allowing  me  to  make  you  the  plaything  of 
a  reckless  mood,  in  an  hour  of  ennui  and  idleness." 

"  Believe  me,  bright  L' eclair,  you  have  found  no  plaything 
in  me,"  answered  Marcus,  with  a  proud  smile.  "  Young  as  I 
am,  and  little  versed  in  the  wiles  and  caprices  of  woman,  I 
can  parry  her  keenest  weapons,  and  foil  her  most  covert  at 
tacks."  L' eclair  turned  quickly,  and  fixed  her  dazzling  eyes 
upon  his  face,  with  a  look  of  unutterable  astonishment.  He 
met  it  with  such  calm  and  radiant  intensity,  that,  baffled  and 
disconcerted,  she  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of  vexation,  "  You  are 
indeed  an  enigma.  Give  me  the  clue,  if  you  please,  to  the 
intricate  labyrinth  of  your  mind." 

"  I  will,  for  it  is  a  very  simple  one — Truth." 


104  MARCUS  WAELAND;  on, 

"  Who  ever  heard  of  a  young  man  speaking  of  truth  to  a  girl  ?" 

"  Who  ever  heard  of  a  young  girl  requiring  a  key  to  the 
thoughts  of  one  as  frank  and  ingenuous  as  myself  ?" 

"  Well,  I  am  going  to  test  your  frankness.  Do  you  not 
think  me  very  bold  ?" 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  think  of  you,  without  fear  of  giv 
ing  displeasure,  even  if  it  be  an  affirmative  to  your  singular 
question  T' 

"  Certainly ;  I  should  like  exceedingly  to  know  your  opinion 
of  me,  though  it  is  a  matter  of  perfect  indifference  what  it  is." 

"  Is  it  ?     Then  I  shall  not  tell  you." 

"  Really !"  she  cried,  with  a  smile  of  inconceivable  bright 
ness  ;  "  I  do  think  I  have  found  a  spirit  as  haughty  and  un 
manageable  as  my  own.  Well  then,  victor  orator  of  the  day 
and  most  provokingly  self-sufficient  young  man,  I  do  care  to 
know  what  you  think  of  me,  good,  bad,  or  indifferent." 

"  Let  us  sit  down  by  the  pine  boughs  that  luxuriate  in  this 
corner  of  the  room,  leaving  the  floor  for  the  present  to  others. 
You  have  given  me  a  long  task  to  perform." 

With  an  assenting  motion,  she  suffered  Marcus  to  lead  her  to 
the  mimic  bower,  where,  with  mock  gravity  on  her  brow  and  arch 
defiance  on  her  lips,  she  waited  his  exposition  of  her  character. 

"I  need  not  tell  you  that  you  are  young,  beautiful,  and 
fascinating,"  began  Marcus,  with  an  air  of  graceful  seriousness. 
"  That  you  know  but  too  well  already.  That  you  have  wit 
and  genius  you  also  know,  and  are  fully  aware  of  their  dazzling 
power.  Added  to  these  lavish  gifts  of  nature,  you  have  the 
splendid  endowments  of  wealth,  which  in  the  eyes  of  the  world 
would  gild  with  transcendent  brightness  far  meaner  charms 
These  are  the  brilliant  lights  of  the  picture — now  for  its  coun 
ter  shades." 

"  Yes !  give  me  the  shades.  I  have  listened  with  impa 
tience  to  an  enumeration  of  advantages  too  highly  coloured  for 
the  sober  truth  you  promised." 

"  Nay,  mysterious  damsel,  no  tint  that  ever  glowed  on  the 
palette  of  the  artist  ever  gave  a  hue  too  bright  for  the  lights  I 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  105 

have  endeavoured  to  flash  upon  your  perception.  But  when  I 
tell  you  that  you  presume  upon  these  matchless  gifts,  and  wear 
them,  not  as  their  grateful  recipient,  but  as  their  arbitrary 
possessor ;  that  you  feel  born  to  rule  rather  than  to  win ;  that 
you  glory  in  your  power,  rather  than  rejoice-  in  your  attractions, 
you  may  call  me  a  precocious  cynic  and  presumptuous  censor, 
if  you  will,  yet  I  am  nevertheless  your  best  and  truest  friend." 

L' eclair  listened  with  her  eyes  riveted  upon  the  floor,  and 
the  colour  of  her  cheek  heightened  till  it  shamed  the  ruby 
gems  she  wore.  He  paused  as  if  waiting  for  a  reply,  but  as 
still  she  sat  with  downward  glance,  he  added  : 

"You  are  not  angry,  I  trust,  that  I  have  obeyed  your  behest?" 

She  raised  her  eyes  instantaneously,  and  he  saw  with  sur 
prise  and  emotion  that  their  dark  surface  was  glistening  with 
moisture  that  gave  them  the  softness  of  velvet. 

"Angry  I"  repeated  she,  in  a  low,  sweet  voice.  "  Oh,  no ! 
I  am  pleased,  delighted.  You  are  the  first  person  that  ever 
addressed  to  me  the  language  of  truth — except  one,"  she  added, 
and  Marcus  thought  she  glanced  towards  Delaval,  who  was 
dancing  with  Katy,  but  who  occasionally  looked  towards  them 
with  undisguised  interest — "  except  one,  and  he  always  does 
it  mockingly.  A  petted  child ;  an  only  daughter ;  a  spoiled 
and  pampered  heiress,  how  could  I  help  being  self-willed  and 
wayward?  When  I  met  you  at  the  fountain,  I  thought  you  a 
mere  boy — no  older  than  myself.  Pray,  how  old  do  you  take 
me  to  be,  Master  Marcus  Warland  ?"  said  she,  with  a  dash  of 
the  returning  hoyden  in  her  manner. 

"  Say  seventeen  summers  bloom  upon  your  cheek,"  said  he, 
comparing  her  with  his  sister,  whose  fair  figure  was  gliding  near. 

"  You  must  be  a  magician,  for  just  so  many  years  I  have 
numbered.  Now  I  find  you  with  such  a  majestic  earnestness 
added  to  years,  you  are  really  awe-inspiring.  When  I  look 
you  in  the  face,  I  can  well  believe  you  no  more  than  nineteen ; 
but  judging  from  your  words,  I  should  suppose  you  at  least 
ninety-and-nine." 

"  I  am  glad  you  clothe  me  with  such  venerable  associations," 


106  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

said  Marcus,  laughing.  "  You  will  at  least  think  of  me  with 
respect." 

"  I  should  think  that  would  be  the  last  feeling  so  young  a 
man  would  wish  to  inspire." 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  the  first  ?" 

"Yes — though  I  dare  say  I  shall  repent  my  condescension." 

"  It  is  confidence." 

L'eclair  bit  her  ruby  lips,  to  hide  its  pouting  expression. 
She  would  not  for  worlds  show  that  she  was  disappointed  in 
the  answer,  but  she  certainly  expected  a  different  one. 

"  Let  me  for  one  moment  refer  to  a  subject  that  I  cannot 
dismiss  from  my  thought,"  said  Marcus,  with  all  his  natural, 
hearty,  glowing  manner, — "  the  influence  of  your  mysteri 
ously-winged  epistles.  I  never  thought  the  writer  bold  or 
imfeminine.  I  thought,  and  still  think  her  a  being  of  strong 
and  generous  impulse,  and  capable  of  great  and  glorious  influ 
ences.  Her  mystic  words  have  been  my  inspiration,  and  my 
security  of  success.  I  felt — I  still  feel,  that  she  would  not 
thus  have  written,  had  she  not  felt  an  interest  in  the  aspiring 
boy  whom  destiny  had  thrown  across  her  path.  The  dreams 
of  his  ambition  are  partly  realized.  He  is  climbing  the  Jura's 
billowy  ridge,  with  his  eye  fixed  upon  the  monarch  mount, 
where  the  thunder  dwells  and  the  lightning  makes  its  home." 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  varying  countenance  of  the 
brunette  while  Marcus  was  speaking.  Now  it  sparkled  with 
the  dewy  freshness  of  the  morning ;  then  a  soft  cloud  floated 
over  it ;  and  when  he  concluded,  the  fire  of  a  summer  noonday 
flashed  from  its  beams. 

"How  well — how  clearly  you  have  read  me,"  said  she. 
"  How  baffling,  how  triumphant  you  are.  I  came  in  the  vain 
Lope  of  finding  amusement  in  your  struggles  to  pierce  through 
the  mystery  in  which  I  have  enveloped  myself — to  sport  with 
your  curiosity,  and  exult  in  my  power.  I  find  you  armed  on 
every  side,  as  if  you  had  a  legion  of  archangels  to  contend 
with,  instead  of  a  weak  and  foolish  girl.  You  have  not  even 
asked  my  name." 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  107 

"None  can  be  more  beautiful  than  L' Eclair.  If  you  give 
me  a  thousand  others,  that  alone  shall  breathe  upon  my  lips." 

"  Well,  be  it  so.  I  will  still  be  L' eclair  till  you  read  me  a 
very  different  character  of  myself  from  what  you  have  done 
to-night.  Perhaps  I  shall  remember  what  you  have  said.  Per- 
liaps  I  shall  make  the  wisdom  of  my  venerable  Mentor  avail 
able  for  my  good.  But  I  should  like  to  know  before  we  again 
join  the  dance  what  you  do  admire  in  women,  you  have  been 
so  frank  in  telling  me  what  there  is  to  condemn." 

"Do  you  see  that  lady,  with  pearls  braided  in  her  daik 
hair,  with  such  a  sweet,  serene  countenance,  on  whose  cheek 
a  mellower  tint  than  that  of  youth's  is  spread." 

"Yes,  she  is  very  lovely." 

"  That  lady  has  a  gentleness,  firmness,  and  dignity,  that  so 
melt  into  each  other,  that  you  cannot  tell  where  one  begins 
and  the  other  ends,  any  more  than  you  can  the  blending  co 
lours  of  the  rainbow.  What  I  now  am  I  owe  to  her.  When 
I  was  a  little  boy,  she  kissed  me  with  her  angel  lips,  and  in 
fused  into  mine  a  portion  of  her  divine  spirit.  She  gave  an 
inner  sense  of  loveliness,  an  insight  into  my  own  nature,  and 
an  image  of  that  other  nature  which  I  trust  will  one  day  blend 
with  mine,  and  incorporate  itself  with  my  being  of  beings." 

L'eclair's  brilliant  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  charming  faco 
of  Mrs.  Bellamy  with  vivid  admiration,  when  Delaval  ap 
proached,  and  laying  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  Marcus, 
exclaimed : 

"  Don't  you  see  what  dark  frowns  are  gathering  around  you  ' 
They  are  crying  out  against  you  as  a  selfish  monopolizer. 
There  is  many  a  bashful  youth  sighing  for  an  introduction  to 
Miss  L' eclair,  and  begging  me  to  intercede  in  their  behalf." 

"Excuse  me,  Delaval;  I  have  no  desire  to  extend  my  ac 
quaintance." 

"  You  would  not  draw  upon  yourself  so  odious  a  name  as  an 
exclusive,"  said  he,  with  marked  emphasis.  She  blushed,  gave 
a  haughty  wave  of  the  head,  but  rising  at  the  same  time  and 
taking  his  arm.  Marcus  felt  that  he  had  extended  their  conver- 


108  MARCUS   WARLAND;   OR, 

sation  as  far  as  politeness  to  others  authorized.  Delaval  led 
L'eclair  to  the  dance,  and  though  he  seemed  charmed  with  the 
fair  Aurora,  as  he  called  the  blue-eyed  Katy,  his  every  look 
betrayed  a  strong  and  earnest  interest  in  the  dark  girl,  whose 
fascinations  he  defied.  And  she  treated  him  with  a  playful 
ness  and  familiarity  that  seemed  like  the  rebounding  of  an 
elastic  substance  from  some  strong  unusual  pressure. 

"  She  probably  looks  upon  me  as  a  stern  moralist,"  thougnt 
Marcus,  as  he  saw  her  lay  her  hand  confidingly  on  Delaval' s 
arm  and  look  up  in  his  face  with  a  bewitching  smile,  "but 
better  so  than  the  plaything  of  an  idle  hour.  Nay,  I  will  not 
be  unjust.  She  bore  my  bold  chiding  nobly,  and  soft  and 
beautiful  was  the  inner  light  that  at  times  came  up  from  her 
soul  and  illumined  her  face.  Brilliant,  charming,  bewildering 
L'eclair !  Should  she  prove  an  ignis  fatuus,  shining  over  her 
marshes  of  folly  and  vanity,  aimless  and  betraying,  I  could 
soon  cease  to  be  lured  by  her  light ;  but  if" 

The  mental  sentence  remained  unconcluded,  for  he  had  to 
turn  L'eclair  in  the  dance,  and  reflection  vanished  in  a  thrill 
of  electricity. 

When  the  dance  was  over  and  the  company  dispersing,  he 
again  found  himself  at  her  side. 

11  We  leave  by  the  morning's  dawn,"  said  she.     "  My  uncle 
is  a  man  of  wondrous  punctuality,  and  will  not  delay  one  mo 
ment.     Delaval,  who  is  bound  for  the  same  regions,  will  bear 
us  company.     Farewell,  Marcus  Warland.      Promise  not  to 
think  less  of  the  wild  girl  of  the  fountain  for  daring  to  sendf^; 
you  some  of  the  random  arrows  of  her  reckless  brain ;  and  she  "\l 
hopes  when  she  again  meets  you,  she  will  be  able  to  lay  aside  *• 
the  fancy  appellation  of  L'eclair  for  her  own  legitimate,  bap 
tismal  name." 

"  I  cannot  promise  to  think  less  of  one  who  will  henceforth 
be  blended  with  my  highest  aspirations  and  holiest  wishes," 
exclaimed  Marcus,  with  irrepressible  enthusiasm.  The  soft 
hand  extended  in  parting  lingered  a  moment  in  his  clasp,  and 
tthe  passed  away  like  the  lightning  of  a  summer  night. 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  109 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  His  fair  locks  waved  in  sunny  play, 

By  a  clear  fountain's  side, 
Where  jewel-colour'd  pebbles  lay 

Beneath  the  flowing  tide. 
And  if  iny  heart  had  dcem'd  him  fair, 

When  in  the  fountain  glade, 
A  creature  of  the  sky  and  air, 

Almost  on  wings  he  play'd; 
Oh  !  how  much  holier  beauty  now 
Lit  that  young  human  being's  brow  !" — HEMANS. 

DURING  their  journey  home,  Marcus  expressed  a  strong  de 
sire  to  revisit  the  scenes  of  his  childhood,  the  ferryman's  cabin, 
the  Long  Moss  Spring,  old  Simon,  and  the  banks  of  the  rush 
ing  river,  that  used  to  murmur  his  nightly  lullaby.  Mr.  Bel 
lamy  immediately  proposed  to  take  his  place  in  the  carriage, 
in  exchange  for  his  horse,  which  would  carry  him  by  a  by-road 
to  his  early  home. 

"  I  wish  I  were  going  too,"  exclaimed  Katy,  looking  wist 
fully  after  him.  "  Marcus,  don't  forget  to  give  my  love  to 
old  Uncle  Simon,  and  bring  me  some  of  the  moss  from  the 
fountain,  and  some  of  the  leaves  of  the  magnolia  that  shades 
its  margin." 

It  was  with  feelings  of  refreshment  and  delight  that  Marcus 
found  himself  on  horseback  in  the  heart  of  the  cool  green 
woods.  Dear  as  was  the  society  of  his  friends,  just  at  this 
time  the  freedom  of  his  own  thoughts  was  dearer  still.  Free 
dom,  yes;  it  was  freedom.  It  was  with  a  jubilant  spirit  he 
felt  himself  free  from  the  collegiate  restraints  which  for  three 
years  had  bound  him.  They  did  not  gall  him  while  he  wore 
them,  because  he  never  writhed  or  resisted  them,  but  now  they 
were  thrown  off  he  experienced  that  joy  in  independence  which 
shows  it  is  the  birthright  of  man.  lie  was  happy;  he  had  ful 
filled  the  hopes  of  his  friends ;  he  had  attained  the  reaching 
of  his  ambition  ;  but  the  spot  on  which  he  now  stood  was  only 
a  stepping-place  for  another  and  loftier  ascent.  He  looked 


110  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

into  the  future.  According  to  the  promise  of  his  adopted 
father,  he  was  to  enjoy  still  higher  advantages  of  education  in 
one  of  the  distinguished  institutions  of  New  England,  and  he 
flew  in  imagination  towards  its  granite  hills,  "  of  eagle  hearts 
the  eyrie,"  with  eager  anticipations.  Delaval  was  to  accompany 
him.  He  was  to  visit  him  at  his  own  home,  called  Wood 
Lawn,  after  resting  a  while  at  Bellamy  Place,  and  they  were 
to  start  together  on  their  northern  journey.  We  said  Marcus 
was  happy.  The  mysterious  joy  of  a  young  and  growing  pas 
sion  exalted  and  refined  all  his  perceptions,  and  even  added 
to  the  visible  glories  of  creation. 

It  was  a  little  past  noon  of  the  third  day  since  he  had  quitted 
the  university,  that  the  first  incident  occurred  of  any  interest 
to  the  young  traveller.  He  was  just  coming  into  the  main  road. 
He  was  riding  on  a  grassy  path,  and  the  hoofs  of  his  horse 
made  no  more  noise  than  if  treading  on  velvet.  He  saw  through 
the  opening  boughs  a  carriage,  standing  near  a  little  brook 
that  flowed  across  the  road.  Seated  on  a  log  by  the  way-side, 
in  the  shade  of  the  tall  trees,  was  a  group,  whose  position 
drove  the  warm  blood  from  the  cheek  of  Marcus,  quickly  and 
oppressively,  to  his  heart.  Mr.  Alston,  the  uncle  of  L' eclair, 
was  seated  somewhat  apart,  near  the  end  of  the  log,  very  much 
engaged  in  discussing  a  luncheon  of  cold  turkey  and  ham. 
Delaval  sat  at  the  opposite  end,  his  arm  thrown  caressingly 
round  the  waist  of  L' eclair,  whose  head  reclined  wearily,  but 
gracefully,  on  his  shoulder.  Her  bonnet  was  tossed  on  the 
ground,  her  hair  was  loose  and  sported  wildly  over  Delaval' s 
arm,  as  the  forest  vine  round  the  oak  to  which  it  clings.  An 
indescribable  pang  pierced  the  heart  of  Marcus,  that  heart  a 
moment  before  so  glad  and  glowing.  The  treachery  of  Dela 
val,  who  professed  such  indifference  to  L'eclair, — Delaval, 
whom  he  thought  the  mirror  of  truth  and  frankness;  the  levity 
and  unmaidenly  forwardness  of  L'eclair,  in  forcing  herself  op 
his  thoughts,  while  she  was  cherishing  an  attachment  to  an 
other  ; — he  knew  not  which  cut  the  deepest,  the  coldest.  He 
could  not  accost  them.  Gently  turning  his  horse,  (if  there 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  Ill 

was  a  rustling  motion  among  the  leaves,  it  was  drowned  in  the 
soft  gurgles  of  the  wimpling  brook,)  he  rode  back  into  the 
woods,  without  disturbing  the  noonday  siesta  of  the  travellers. 
As  soon  as  he  was  far  enough  removed  to  be  beyond  the  reach 
of  discovery,  he  threw  himself  from  his  horse,  and  casting  him 
self  down  under  the  first  tree  he  saw,  leaned  back  against  the 
rough  bark,  immovable  as  the  trunk  that  supported  him.  He 
felt  as  if  he  were  suddenly  transported  from  the  equatorial  to 
the  polar  regions,  such  a  freezing  sense  of  falsehood  and  deceit 
congealed  his  blood  and  turned  his  veins  to  icicles.  Nor  did 
he  think  of  himself  alone.  He  thought  of  his  blue-eyed  sister, 
listening  as  he  had  seen  h'er  to  the  artful  compliments  of  Dela- 
val,  whose  black  eyes,  riveted  on  her  modest  face,  seemed  to 
speak  unutterable  things.  He  thought  of  all  this,  and  he  exe 
crated  the  heartless  vanity  that  fed  on  the  wounded  confidence 
of  others.  L' eclair  !  ah,  what  a  beautiful  vision  of  girlish  en 
thusiasm,  pure  and  ardent  impulses,  true  and  generous  feeling, 
what  a  promise  of  glorious  womanhood  were  all  swept  away. 

"  Oh  !   colder  than  the  wind  that  freezes 

Founts  that  but  now  in  sunshine  play'd, 
Is  that  congealing  pang  which  seizes 
The  trusting  bosom,  when  betray'd." 

"Never  again,"  thought  the  youth,  when,  after  an  hour's 
deep  abstraction,  he  left  the  solitude  of  the  woods,  "shall  I  have 
undoubting  faith  in  man  or  woman.  Is  the  world  made  of 
elements  like  these  ?  If  it  be,  save  me,  my  guardian  angel, 
from  its  chilling  contact." 

Marcus  slept  that  night  in  a  rough  hut,  belonging  to  a  wood 
man,  for  his  delay  had  prevented  him  from  reaching  the  usual 
stopping-place.  He  met  with  another  obstruction,  in  being 
compelled  to  have  his  horse  re-shod ;  so  that  he  did  not  reach 
his  old  home  till  towards  night  on  the  following  day.  It  was 
just  such  a  quiet,  mellow  evening  as  when  Mr.  Bellamy  rode 
up,  the  last  time,  the  same  path  he  was  travelling.  He  saw 
the  smoke  of  the  chimney,  lazily  yet  gracefully  curling  upward 
above  the  forest  trees,  before  the  low,  dark  walls  met  his  view. 
The  thoughts,  feelings,  and  experience  of  nine  years  were  all 


112  MARCUS   WARLANDj    OR, 

crowded  into  one  moment  of  time,  and  the  heart  of  the  young 
man  was  full.  He  had  left  that  spot  a  boy,  whom  peculiar 
trials  had  invested  with  precocious  energy  of  character, — he 
came,  in  the  dawning  of  his  manhood,  crowned  with  classic  lau 
rels,  to  bathe  his  lip  once  more  in  that  sacred  fountain,  where  his 
father  had  been  baptized  with  the  waters  of  life.  He  dismounted 
and  tied  his  horse  to  a  well-known  post,  though  now  infirm, 
and  leaning  forward,  like  a  decrepit  old  man.  He  saw  the 
old  ferry-boat,  looking  darker  and  heavier  than  ever,  moored 
at  the  same  place,  the  long  propelling-poles  crossed  on  the 
planking.  But  when  a  sudden  curve  in  the  path  brought  him 
within  view  of  the  spring,  the  Long  Moss  Spring,  the  waters 
all  gilded  and  crimsoned  by  the  reflected  hues  of  summer's 
effulgent  sunset — his  soul  heaved  and  glowed  like  those  wa 
ters;  and  seated  under  the  magnolia's  shade,  with  his  head 
supported  by  both  hands,  sat  a  figure  old  and  bent,  with  bare 
grizzled  wool,  and  a  face  whose  hard  wrinkles  looked  as  if 
carved  out  of  lignum  vitae,  blackened  by  smoke.  A  thread 
bare,  faded  uniform  coat,  that  coat  of  many  memories,  covered 
the  shoulders  of  the  old  soldier,  who  sat  on  the  brink  of  the 
fountain,  watching  the  eternal  flow  of  its  waters,  probably  mus 
ing  on  the  cherished  images  of  past  years.  Marcus  leaped 
forward  and  stood  on  the  white  stones  that  surrounded  the 
basin,  uttering  a  joyous  cry.  The  old  soldier  lifted  his  dim 
eyes,  and  gazed  upon  the  bright,  sunny-locked,  springing 
figure,  that  had  arisen,  like  the  young  and  radiant  river-god, 
near  the  fountain  of  the  virgin  Arethusa. 

"  Simon — old  Uncle  Simon — old  soldier,"  exclaimed  Mar 
cus,  holding  out  his  hand  to  the  bewildered  old  man;  "don't 
you  know  me  ?  don't  you  remember  Marcus,  Marcus  Warland, 
Aunt  Milly's  pet,  and  little  Katy's  brother  ?" 

"  The  Lord  save  my  ole  eyes  ! — you  don't  say  so  I"  said  the 
negro,  in  a  tremulous  voice,  slowly  rising  and  gazing  long  on  the 
youth,  who  was  shaking  his  hard  and  ridgy  hand  with  a  true 
college  gripe.  "  Mercy  on  me — I  do  believe  it  is — I  do  indeed 
— Heavenly  Master,  what  a  fine  young  mau  you  got  to  be  ! 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  113 

Bless  my  soul  and  body — if  it  isn't  master  Marcus  !  and  lie 
haint  forgot  poor  old  Simon — he  liaint — jist  to  think  on't — 
bless  his  heart — I  can  now  say  with  good  ole  Simeon,  when  he 
seed  the  promised  land,  '  Let  thy  servant  depart — I  live  long 
enuff  this  time.'  I've  seed  young  master  again — and  he 
'members  poor  old  Simon." 

By  this  time  Uncle  Simon  had  wrought  himself  up  to  the 
highest  pitch  of  sensibility,  and  stopped,  weeping  and  sobbing 
like  a  child. 

"  Forget  you,  Uncle  Simon !  no,  indeed  !  How  could  you 
think  me  so  ungrateful? — you,  who  were  so  kind  and  good  to 
me  when  a  boy  ?  We  all  remember  you,  and  wish  you 
were  with  us  again,  wish  you  were  with  the  excellent  Mr. 
Bellamy." 

"  And  Milly — bless  the  good  ole  soul !"  cried  the  old  sol 
dier,  his  recollections  fertilized  and  vivified  by  the  copious 
shower  that  had  watered  them ;  "  how  is  she  ?  I  never,  never 
forget  ole  Milly ;  she  mighty  good  to  Simon.  She  used  to 
talk  Scripter,  too,  jist  like  a  book.  She  mighty  knowing  wo 
man,  Milly  was ;  and  little  mistress  Katy — how  she  do  ?  She 
'member  Uncle  Simon,  too  ?  I  tote  her  many  a  time  to  this 
here  spring,  and  put  her  head  all  over  in,  every  bit  on't.  She 
big  lady  now.  She  got  sweetheart — hey,  master  ?" 

Simon  gave  Marcus  a  little  punch  in  the  side,  and  opening 
his  mouth,  let  out  one  of  his  old-fashioned  laughs,  such  as 
Milly  used  to  echo.  While  he  was  thus  recreating  himself, 
Marcus  stooped  over  the  fountain  and  quaffed  its  cold,  icy- 
cold  stream.  How  beautiful  the  long  moss  waved,  now  deep 
sea-green,  now  deep  sky-blue  below  !  How  white,  how  pure 
was  the  basin,  smooth  and  spotless  from  the  ceaseless  lavation 
of  the  waters  !  How  sparkling  was  the  foam,  how  silvery  the 
gush  of  the  rill ! — Ah  !  this  was  the  spirit  of  the  place  !  The 
old  cabin  was  dilapidated,  and  inhabited  by  strangers ;  the 
grounds  looked  neglected ;  even  the  river  seemed  defaced  by 
the  dark  old  ferry-boat  that  lay  sluggishly  on  its  bosom ;  but 
this  perennial  spring,  pure  and  fresh  and  clear,  was  a  living, 
59 


114  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

singing,  joyous  being,  the  emblem  of  his  own  youth,  the  re 
servoir  of  memory,  the  birthplace  of  hope. 

"Who  inhabits  the  cabin,  Simon?"  asked  Marcus.  "It  is 
in  rather  a  ruinous  condition." 

"I  forgit  his  name,"  said  the  old  man.  "He  no  quality 
folks  like  your  family,  young  master;  jist  poor,  no-account 
sort  of  people.  I  jist  comes  here,  'cause  I  can't  live  without 
it.  I  comes  to  sit  about  and  think  of  ole  times.  Master  don't 
make  me  work  any  more.  I  shan't  live  long,  anyhow,  young 
master.  Ole  Simon  jist  like  a  field  of  dry  fodder — ready  to 
be  pull  down  and  trodden  in  the  oven ;  but  if  the  Lord  put 
me  in  the  heavenly  house  up  yonder,  I  no  care  how  soon  the 
scythe  of  the  'stroyer  come,  and  hack  away  the  ole  black  shuck." 

Marcus  sat  with  his  old  friend,  talking  of  past  times,  till  the 
gleam  of  sunset  died  on  the  fountain,  and  its  cold,  gray  surface 
gave  back  the  sober  tints  of  twilight. 

"  Is  the  man  who  keeps  the  ferry  at  home  ?"  asked  Marcus. 

"  I  don't  knows,  young  master,  but  his  wife  be." 

"I  must  ask  her  for  a  night's  lodging.  There  are  echoes  in 
those  walls  to  me,  Uncle  Simon,  that  will  talk  with  me  till 
midnight  is  gone  by." 

"  Yes,  young  master,  I  does  think  it  be  haunted — 'deed  I 
does.  I  seed  a  sperrit  myself  go  one  night  right  round  the 
house,  with  a  white  handkercher  on,  just  like  Milly.  I  'fraid 
Milly  going  to  die." 

The  woman  coming  out  to  dip  a  bucket  of  water  from  the 
spring,  Marcus  asked  if  she  would  give  him  a  night's  lodging. 
Though  common-looking  and  coarsely  dressed,  she  seemed  to 
have  a  native  sense  of  politeness  and  an  innate  love  of  the 
beautiful,  for  she  looked  at  Marcus  with  evident  admiration, 
and  accorded  him  the  boon  he  asked. 

"  You  will  have  but  a  bad  time  of  it,  I  can  tell  you,"  said 
she.  "  It  is  a  poor  place  for  the  like  of  you  to  sleep  in." 

Marcus  smiled,  and  followed  her  into  the  cabin,  where  he 
had  so  often  slept  the  sound  sleep  of  childhood.  As  he  entered 
ajad  looked  round  the  dark,  unplastcred  walls,  and  contrasted 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  115 

them  with  the  elegant  rooms  of  Bellamy  Place,  he  wondered 
if  he  ever  could  have  breathed  the  air  of  contentment  within 
those  rough,  unhewn  logs.  He  had  forgotten  that  it  con 
tained  but  one  room,  and  apologized  to  the  woman  for  his  in 
trusion. 

"Only  lend  me  a  blanket  and  pillow/'  said  he,  "and  I 
can  sleep  gloriously  on  the  white  rock  by  the  side  of  the  foun 
tain.  The  moon  shines  to-night,  and  the  day  has  been  very 
warm  and  sultry." 

In  vain  the  really  hospitable  woman  insisted  upon  giving 
him  her  bed,  and  sleeping  in  the  kitchen.  Marcus  would  not 
have  exchanged  the  bed  he  had  chosen  for  a  royal  canopy. 
After  a  supper  of  bacon,  fish,  and  corn  hoe-cake,  such  as  he 
had  often  partaken  of  with  a  much  better  relish,  he  begged  her 
to  deposit  a  blanket  and  pillow  under  the  magnolia  boughs, 
and  calling  to  Simon,  went  to  the  ferry-boat,  and  jumping  in, 
grasped  one  of  the  poles,  and  gave  the  other  to  him. 

"  Let  us  have  a  push  over  the  river  for  the  sake  of  auld  lang 
syne,  Uncle  Simon.  See,  the  moon  is  rising,  rolling  up,  like 
a  great  silver  wheel,  out  of  the  river.  I  long  to  see  if  I  can 
do  now  what  I  did  nine  years  ago." 

While  they  were  unfastening  the  chain  that  confined  it  to  the 
shore,  the  woman  came  running  from  the  cabin,  quite  breathless. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  that  boat,  sir  ?" 

"  I  forgot,"  said  Marcus,  laughing.  "  I  forgot  to  ask  per 
mission.  I  only  wanted  to  push  it  once  across  the  river,  and 
back  again." 

"I  expect  husband  every  instant,  and  I  don't  know  what 
he  would  say  if  he  found  the  boat  t'other  side,  and  he  not  in  it." 

"  I  leave  my  horse  as  a  security  that  I  will  not  run  away 
with  the  boat,"  said  Marcus,  "  and  my  hat  and  gloves  too," 
added  he,  giving  them  a  light  toss  into  her  hand. 

"  Oh  !  you  had  better  keep  on  your  gloves,  I  tell  you,  sir. 
Your  hands  look  too  white  and  delicate  like  to  handle  them 
dirty  poles." 

Marcus  cast  a  disdainful  glance  at  his  fair  hands.     He 


116  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

wished  he  could  harden  and  embrown  them,  but  it  was  not  the 
life  of  a  student  that  would  do  it. 

"Perhaps  you  would  jump  in  and  go  with  us/'  said  Marcus, 
observing  that  she  looked  doubtfully  and  wishfully  on  the  river, 
"  then  you  will  not  be  anxious  about  the  boat." 

"  Thankee,  I  don't  care  if  I  do,"  answered  she  with  alacrity, 
and  stepping  in,  she  snatched  the  pole  from  the  tremulous  hand 
of  Simon,  and  told  Marcus  she  would  help  him  to  push  it. 
She  was  young  and  active,  and  seemed  to  enjoy  the  sport 
keenly  of  seeing  such  a  handsome  young  man,  dressed  so  finely, 
pushing  away  lustily  as  a  boatman.  It  was  really  a  novel  trio. 
Old  Simon  stood  at  the  head  of  the  boat,  holding  by  the  lan 
tern-post,  in  his  battered  regimentals,  looking  like  a  militia 
ghost  in  the  moonshine ;  the  stout,  sunburnt,  but  now  bright- 
faced  woman,  brandishing  her  pole,  and  laughing  merrily  at 
the  fair  young  man,  whose  hands  gleamed  so  white  on  the 
black  rod  he  was  wielding,  and  whose  magnificent  hair  glis 
tened  and  waved  like  molten  gold.  Marcus,  whose  experience 
of  the  previous  day  had  been  weighing  heavily,  coldly  on  his 
heart,  felt  at  this  moment  a  wild  gayety  as  foreign  to  his  na 
ture  as  the  depression  that  had  been  sinking  him.  Old  habits 
resumed  their  power.  The  water  seemed  his  native  element, 
and  dashing  his  pole  into  the  strong  current  till  he  threw  a 
shower  of  wet  diamonds  on  old  Simon's  snowy  wool  and  the 
dishevelled  locks  of  the  ferryman's  wife,  he  leaned  back  with 
all  his  strength,  mirroring  the  moonbeams  on  his  polished  brow. 
When  they  reached  the  bank,  Marcus  beheld  with  astonish 
ment  a  gentleman  seated  in  an  open  buggy,  waiting  to  cross. 
He  had  come  down  the  hill  while  the  boat  was  going  over,  but 
they  were  too  much  excited  to  notice  him.  Marcus  could  not 
help  laughing  at  the  singular  appearance  he  must  present  to 
the  eye  of  the  stranger,  but  he  had  no  alternative  but  to  push 
back  even  as  he  had  come,  and  finish  the  evening's  frolic. 
The  gentleman  descended  from  his  buggy  as  soon  as  he  had 
driven  into  the  boat,  and  looked  at  Marcus  with  evident  curi- 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  117 

osity  and  surprise.     He  was  a  young  man,  well-dressed,  and 
carrying  his  head  very  loftily. 

"  Young  master/'  said  Uncle  Simon,  seeing  Marcus  take  one 
hand  from  the  pole  and  expose  its  palm  to  the  nignt  air,  as  if 
its  coolness  were  refreshing,  "you  blistering  your  hands,  you 
know  you  be.  They  tenderer  now  than  they  was  when  you 
little  boy,  and  push,  push  most  all  the  time.  Lord  bless  me, 
jist  to  think  you  ever  did  do  sich  a  thing  afore,  looking  so  like 
a  born  angel  as  you  do." 

Marcus  felt  his  blood  rush  hotly  to  his  face  as  he  encoun 
tered  the  insolent  stare  of  the  young  man  at  this  reminiscence 
of  Uncle  Simon.  It  was  Mr.  Bellamy's  wish,  when  he  went  to 
college,  that  he  should  never  allude  to  his  father's  past  history ; 
that  he  should  be  considered  as  his  adopted  son ;  and  Marcus 
had  scrupulously  obeyed  him.  As  this  period  of  his  life  was 
associated  with  his  father's  moral  degradation,  he  could  not 
wish  to  allude  to  it  before  a  stranger.  Simon,  who,  with  the 
garrulity  of  age,  and  its  imbecility  too,  dreamed  not  he  was  say 
ing  any  thing  his  "blessed  young  master"  would  wish  unsaid, 
continued  his  remarks,  regardless  of  the  presence  of  the 
haughty  stranger. 

"  Young  master,  how  do  ole  master  like  his  new  profession  ? 
How  do  he  like  the  business  of  overseeing  the  black,  coloured 
population  ?  Do  he  have  much  trouble  ?  He  in  very  'spon- 
sible  office.  I  hope  he  have  wisdom  from  the  Great  Overseer 
of  black  and  white,  way  up  yonder,  young  master ;  wisdom, 
such  as  the  Lord  gave  Saul  when  he  built  him  the  big  idifice, 
all  out  of  solid  gold." 

Again  the  insolent  eyes  of  the  young  man  measured  the 
figure  of  Marcus  from  head  to  foot,  while  a  supercilious  smile 
curved  his  lips.  Marcus's  spirit  was  roused.  The  unfortunate 
allusions  of  old  Simon  were  particularly  galling  at  this  mo 
ment.  Indeed,  they  would  have  been  at  any  moment.  For 
where  is  the  youth  of  the  age  of  Marcus,  fresh  from  close  com 
munion  with  the  aristocracy  of  the  land,  honoured  himself 
among  the  most  honourable  as  the  adopted  son  of  a  wealthy 


118  MARCUS   WARLANDJ   OR, 

planter,  who  would  not  shrink  from  being  addressed  as  the  son 
of  a  ferryman  and  overseer  ?  Years  hence  he  might  look  upon 
the  warring  passions  of  this  hour  with  a  superior  smile ;  but 
now  his  brow  contracted,  his  fingers  quivered,  his  blue  eyes 
darkened  and  burned  as  they  gave  back  the  haughty  stare  of 
the  stranger,  and  never  did  a  prouder  smile  curl  the  lips  of  the 
Delphic  god,  when  seen  by  the  divinities  in  his  pastoral  attire, 
than  rested  on  Marcus's  disdainful  mouth.  There  was  some 
thing  in  his  countenance  that  made  the  stranger  think  it  best 
to  withdraw  his  inspection,  and  the  boat  went  over  the  waves 
as  if  propelled  by  a  giant's  hand.  The  moment  they  landed, 
Marcus  caught  up  his  hat  and  gloves,  and,  without  looking  at 
the  stranger,  walked  towards  the  spring,  forgetting  in  his  ex 
citement  that  he  had  given  no  answer  to  old  Simon's  well- 
meant  but  ill-timed  questions. 

"  You  no  'fended  with  ole  Simon,  young  master  ?"  said  the 
old  negro,  hobbling  after  him,  seeing  that  something  was 
wrong,  and  having  sense  enough  to  connect  himself  with  it. 

"No,  Uncle  Simon.  I  did  not  answer,  because  that  ill-bred 
stranger  was  annoying  me  so  with  his  rudeness.  He  is  gone, 
and  I  am  glad  of  it.  I  hear  his  wheels  lumbering  over  tho 
gravel.  You  asked  after  my  father.  He  is  well  and  hap 
py — happier  than  he  has  been  for  long  years.  If  he 
were  the  brother  of  Mr.  Bellamy,  he  could  not  be  more 
honoured." 

"  The  Lord  be  praised,"  said  Uncle  Simon,  devoutly. 

"And  now  good-night,  Uncle  Simon.  I  am  going  to  sleep 
just  where  I  am ;  and  I  am  going  to  start  very  early  in  the 
morning.  I  came  far  out  of  my  way  to  see  you  and  the  old 
place,  and  I  am  glad  I  find  you  alive  and  well.  I  wish  you 
could  come  and  live  with  us.  If  I  ever  have  a  home  of  my 
own,  and  you  are  alive,  you  shall  come  and  have  a  nice,  com 
fortable  cabin  by  it.  Katy  says  too  you  must  live  with  her  wheu 
she  is  married.  So  there  is  some  danger  of  your  being  divided. 
Here,  Uncle  Simon,  take  this  to  remember  us  both,"  added 
Marcus,  filling  his  wrinkled  hand  with  silver.  "  I  shall  be 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  119 

this  way  again  some  time.     Good-bye.     I  am  glad  you  linger 
near  this  spring.     You  must  always  guard  it  for  my  sake." 

Simon  wept  again  at  the  token  of  his  young  master's  kind 
ness,  and  at  the  thought  of  bidding  him  farewell. 

"  Me  never  see  you  no  more/'  said  the  aged  negro ;  "  but 
me  hope  to  meet  you  in  heaven  above,  where  we  both  be  one 
colour,  one  people,  white  as  snow,  inside  and  out.  Tell  Milly 
I  'spect  to  meet  her  there,  and  Miss  Katy  too,  bless  her  little 
heart.  Ole  Simon  'member  'em  all,  every  one,  in  his  prayers 
to  heavenly  Master." 

Marcus  looked  after  the  old  Christian  soldier  with  melan 
choly  interest,  for  in  all  human  probability  he  would  never  see 
him  again  in  this  world ;  then  spreading  the  blanket  on  the 
hard  rock,  he  stretched  himself  by  the  fountain  whose  sweet, 
soothing,  minor  tone  stole  lovingly  in  his  ears,  and  calmed  his 
exasperated  spirit.  Every  thing  around  breathed  of  such 
heavenly  tranquillity,  it  could  not  but  be  diffused  into  his  own 
soul.  The  shadow  of  the  magnolia  leaves  played  upon  his 
face,  the  moonbeams  played  upon  the  waters,  and  the  long 
blue-green  moss  played  in  the  clear,  silvered  depths  of  the 
fountain.  Vainly  did  Marcus  try  to  shut  one  bright,  deluding 
image  from  his  mind.  Vainly  did  he  sigh  for  the  fabled 
stream  of  Lethe  to  wash  out  its  remembrance.  L'eclair 
sparkled  in  the  moonlight  waters — •'L'eclair  whispered  in  the 
murmuring  rill — L'eclair  bent  over  him  in  the  fragrant  tree. 
At  last  he  slept,  and  L'eclair  floated  into  his  dreams,  and  con 
verted  them  into  a  bewildering  maze.  The  angel,  who  stept 
into  the  pool  of  Bethesda,  imparting  a  healing  influence  to  the 
troubled  waters,  could  hardly  have  looked  more  like  a  celes 
tial  messenger,  than  Marcus,  slumbering  calmly  in  the  silver 
moonbeams,  that  imparted  their  pale  glory  to  his  youthful  fea 
tures.  The  ferryman's  wife  came  down  at  a  late  hour,  to  dip  her 
bucket  in  the  spring ;  but  so  charmed,  so  awe-struck  was  she,  by 
the  beauty  of  his  repose,  she  would  not  disturb  it  by  the  plunge 
of  her  wooden  vessel,  and  turned  away,  with  stilly  footsteps. 

The  sweet  twittering  of  the  birds  in  his  leafy  canopy  awa- 


120  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR; 

kened  him  at  the  dawning  day.  Starting  and  leaning  forward, 
he  saw  himself  reflected  in  the  blue  mirror  of  the  fountain. 
He  knew  not  where  he  was.  Passing  his  fingers  through  his 
dewy  hair,  he  tried  to  recollect  and  define  his  present  position. 
Was  the  shrill  warble  just  then  swelling  above  him,  the  peal 
of  the  college  bell  ?  Was  the  murmuring  sound  in  his  ears 
the  hum  of  the  students'  voices,  as  they  went  hurrying  to  the 
morning  prayer  ?  No ;  it  all  flashed  upon  him  at  once — he 
was  in  the  vestibule  of  the  great  temple  of  day,  from  whose 
unpillared  dome  the  twilight  shadows  were  faintly,  slowly 
rolling  away,  before  the  coming  of  the  god  that  was  soon  to 
ascend  his  burning  throne.  Kneeling  on  the  rock,  late  his 
couch,  and  now  his  altar,  he  mingled  his  morning  orison  with 
the  balmy  incense  that  was  rising  from  the  bosom  of  the 
earth. 

Not  for  three  years  had  Marcus  felt  so  fully  and  deeply  the 
influence  of  devotion.  The  hurry  and  confusion  attending 
morning  prayers  at  college,  the  irreverent  rush,  the  half-made 
toilet,  the  lingering  yawn,  and  scarce-wakened  attention,  con 
vert  these  hasty  exercises  into  a  cold,  unmeaning  ritual.  He 
rose  and  bathed  his  face  and  hands  in  the  spring,  perceiving 
that  his  hostess  had  laid  a  nice  napkin  on  the  rock  for  his  use. 
Remembering  Katy's  parting  injunction  to  bring  her  the  moss 
and  magnolia  leaves,  he  gathered  some  of  both,  then  rightly 
believing  the  ferryman's  wife  would  come  at  an  early  hour  to 
see  if  her  blanket  were  safe,  he  deposited  some  money  in  its 
folds,  and  was  soon  mounted  and  on  his  way  through  the 
woods.  The  next  evening  he  arrived  at  Bellamy  Place,  after 
an  absence  of  two  years.  Aunt  Milly,  who  did  not  look  a  day 
older  than  when  he  saw  her  last,  had  arrayed  herself  in  her 
best  attire  to  welcome  home  her  darling  young  master.  She 
was  never  satisfied  with  gazing  upon  him.  She  walked  round 
and  round  him,  believing  with  Simon  that  he  was  a  "  born 
angel."  She  received  Simon's  message  with  reverential  emo 
tions,  mingled  with  tears. 

f(  Poor  ole  soul  I"  said  she,  "  and  did  he  tell  you  to  say  so 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING-  121 

to  Milly  ?  Yes !  he  ripe  for  the  kingdom  come.  He  good 
ole  Christian,  if  ever  was  one." 

Mr.  Warland  lifted  his  heart  in  gratitude  to  God,  for  having 
given  him  such  a  son.  All  that  he  was  himself  he  owed  to 
him.  It  is  true,  Mr.  Bellamy  had  taken  him  by  the  hand,  and 
raised  him  from  poverty  to  comfort  and  respectability ;  but  it 
was  Marcus  who  had  rescued  him  from  ruin,  ruin  of  body  and 
soul.  It  was  he  who  had  sustained  him  when  the  spirit  of 
temptation  rent  him,  a^  it  were,  in  twain,  and  led  him  to  the 
Divine  Healer.  The  father  had  felt  a  dread  lest  his  fatal  pas 
sion  should  prove  hereditary — lest  his  son,  exposed  to  the 
temptations  of  a  college  life,  might  yield  to  the  seductions  of 
evil  example,  and  feel  that  sting  more  deadly  than  the  fangs 
of  the  serpent,  than  the  bite  of  the  adder.  But  now  he  stood 
before  him,  in  his  stainless  purity  and  fair  renown,  blending 
the  grace  and  simplicity  of  youth  with  the  dignity  of  advancing 
manhood. 

Marcus,  who  had  heard  and  mourned  the  tragic  fate  of  the 
beautiful  mulatto  girl,  was  led  by  Katy  to  her  grave,  over 
which  the  willow  wept,  and  round  which  the  sweet  vines  trailed, 
and  went  clambering  over  the  marble  slab  that  marked  her 
name  and  age.  Those  who  believe  that  the  southern  ne 
gro  lives  and  dies,  uncared-for  and  unlamented  as  the  brutes 
that  perish,  would  not  imagine  that  it  was  over  the  tomb  of 
an  humble  mulatto  that  brother  and  sister  were  now  leaning; 
that  it  was  for  her  the  tear  was  glistening  in  the  young  man's 
eyes,  and  bedewing  the  fair  cheek  of  the  maiden.  Katy  never 
could  visit  the  grave  of  Cora  without  tears,  and  she  often  pulled 
up  the  weeds  that  grew  among  the  blossoms  that  adorned  it. 

"  What  is  become  of  King  ?"  asked  Marcus. 

"  He  is  married  to  Pinky,  a  young  negro  as  black  as  ebony ." 

"  Alas,  for  the  constancy  of  man  !"  cried  Marcus.  "  I  should 
have  thought  poor  Cora's  sad  death  would  have  purchased  a 
longer  lease  of  love." 

"  He  was  so  much  flattered  and  admired  as  a  young  widower 
by  the  black  damsels,"  said  Katy,  "  I  do  not  wonder  so  much. 


122  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR,       f 

But  poor  Hannibal  still  mourns,  and  refuses  to  be  solaced  by 
a  new  attachment.  I  used  to  be  afraid  of  Hannibal,  but  now 
1  would  trust  him  sooner  than  any  negro  on  the  plantation." 

"  I  believe  he  is  worthy  to  be  trusted ;  worthier  than  some 
white  men  I  know,"  said  Marcus,  looking  so  earnestly  at  Katy 
that  her  eyes  as  usual  were  bowed  to  the  earth. 

"  Have  you  been  deceived  in  any  of  your  friends,  Marcus  ?" 

"  Yes,  Katy,  in  one  whom  I  loved  even  as  my  own  brother. 
Do  you  remember  Delaval,  who  distinguished  you  so  much  at 
college  ?" 

"  Yes."  The  monosyllable  was  very  low,  and  Katy  twisted 
her  fingers  in  the  willow  boughs. 

"  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  him  betrothed  to  the  young 
lady  who  was  introduced  to  you  by  the  name  of  L' eclair,  though 
he  professed  to  me  indifference  to  her  attractions.  I  feared 
you  might  have  been  pleased  by  his  flatteries,  you  know  so  lit 
tle  of  the  insincerity  of  the  world.  She  is  a  brilliant  heiress, 
and  what  has  my  little  Katy  to  weigh  in  the  balance  but  a 
sweet  face  and  a  true  and  spotless  heart?" 

He  drew  her  arm  through  his,  and  they  walked  towards  the 
house.  Katy  shivered — "  Are  you  cold  ?"  said  Marcus. 

"  No,"  answered  Katy,  sadly,  "  but  I  could  not  help  it." 

No,  she  could  not  help  it,  poor  girl.  She  felt  a  chill  such 
as  no  outward  elements  can  cause.  Marcus  did  not  know  how 
much  of  apparently  downright,  heart-gushing  love  Delaval  had 
infused  into  Katy's  unsophisticated  ear,  and  how  believingly 
and  trustingly  she  had  listened.  If  he  had,  his  indignation 
would  have  been  far  greater. 

His  visit  to  Delaval,  to  which  he  had  looked  forward  so 
eagerly,  was  now  a  necessity  to  which  he  reluctantly  submitted. 
They  were  to  travel  together  to  the  North,  and  he  had  engaged 
to  meet  him  at  his  own  home.  Though  he  could  no  longer  con 
fide  in  him  as  a  friend,  his  obligations  as  a  gentleman  were 
binding,  and  must  be  fulfilled.  He  received  a  very  pressing 
and  affectionate  letter  from  Delaval,  urging  his  coming,  and 
winding  up  with  some  glowing  compliments  to  Katy  he  did 


•»        THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  123 

not  think  proper  to  repeat.  The  young  man  threatened  to  come 
himself  and  carry  him  to  Wood  Lawn,  if  he  did  not  very  soon 
report  himself  there.  This  was  the  last  thing  Marcus  wished, 
on  his  sister's  account ;  he  therefore  hurried  his  departure,  and 
found  himself,  with  a  heart  not  quite  so  light  as  it  was  two 
years  before,  on  the  road  to  Wood  Lawn.  He  tried  to  think 
calmly  on  the  possibility  of  meeting  L'eclair,  and  of  treating 
her  with  the  indifference  her  levity  and  vain  desire  for  conquest 
merited.  He  tried  to  forget  her,  but  she  was  a  golden  thread 
not  regularly  woven  into  his  being  that  could  be  soberly  un 
ravelled  without  destroying  the  whole,  but  shot  here  and  there 
in  zigzag  line,  difficult  to  follow  and  impossible  to  sepa 
rate. 

Wood  Lawn  was  an  elegant  establishment,  still  more  impos 
ing  in  appearance  than  Bellamy  Place,  though  occupying  a  less 
commanding  site.  Marcus  had  lingered  purposely  on  the 
journey  during  the  middle  of  the  days,  as  he  was  in  Mr.  Bel 
lamy's  private  carriage,  and  could  command  his  own  time. 
It  was  to  leave  him  at  Wood  Lawn,  where  he  arrived  at  candle 
light.  He  preferred  the  hour  of  night,  as  he  could  meet  Dela- 
val  with  less  constraint  than  in  the  blaze  of  day.  Nothing 
could  be  more  hearty  and  cordial  than  the  greeting  of  Delaval. 
He  bounded  down  the  steps  of  the  piazza,  and  actually  hugged 
Marcus  in  his  arms. 

"  My  dear  fellow — my  noble  fellow — I  am  so  glad  you  are 
come.  It  is  an  age  since  I  have  seen  you.  Come  in — let  me 
look  at  you  again,  illustrissirne  adolescens." 

"  Oh,  for  more  sincerity  and  less  profession,"  thought  Mar 
cus,  whose  chilled  heart  could  not  respond  to  this  joyous  greet 
ing.  Delaval  led  the  way  to  a  private  apartment. 

"  Come,"  says  he,  "  I  know  you  want  to  brush  off  a  little 
of  the  dust  of  travelling  before  presenting  yourself  to  the  ladies. 
I  have  described  you  AS  such  an  Apollo,  you  must  do  justice 
to  my  description." 

"  What  ladies  ?"  asked  Marcus,  carelessly  arranging  hi& 
hair.  He  had  arrived  at  a  sublime  indifference  to  the  whole 


124  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR., 

female  sex,  with  the  exception  of  his  sister  and  Mrs.  Bellamy- 
at  least,  he  had  imposed  on  himself  this  conviction. 

"  My  sister,  and  Mrs.  Lewis,  who  acts  as  duenna  to  the 
first,  a  most  agreeable  and  excellent  lady  notwithstanding" — 

"  I  do  not  remember  your  ever  speaking  of  your  sister/' 
said  Marcus. 

"  Oh,  I  must  have  done  it  a  hundred  times.  Neither  did  I 
remember  that  you  had  ever  spoken  of  yours,  till  I  saw  the 
sweetest,  fairest  blue-eyed  damsel  that  ever  stole  into  the 
bowers  of  fancy.  You  never  spoke  of  her  to  me.  You  thought 
her  too  sacred  to  introduce  into  the  walls  of  a  college,  and  I 
suppose  I  had  similar  feelings  with  regard  to  Florence." 

His  gay  allusion  to  Katy  awakened  the  bitter  feelings  of 
Marcus,  and  it  was  with  a  clouded  brow  he  turned  to  follow 
Delaval  from  the  room. 

"  What  in  the  world  is  the  matter  with  you  ?"  exclaimed 
Delaval,  stopping  on  the  threshold,  and  looking  directly  in 
the  face  of  Marcus.  "  I  never  saw  one  so  altered  in  my  life. 
By  the  shade  of  Cicero,  you  must  be  going  through  a  metem 
psychosis,  you  are  so  solemn  and  cold.  Good  heavens,  Mar 
cus,  have  I  offended  you  ?" 

There  was  something  so  straightforward  in  the  look,  so  ho 
nest  in  the  tones  of  Delaval,  that  Marcus  could  not  resist  their 
momentary  influence.  With  his  native  frankness  he  grasped 
his  hand,  and  said — 

11  Delaval,  I  am  hurt  that  you  have  not  trusted  me — that 
you  have  deceived  me  with  regard  to  L'eclair.  Why  did  you 
conceal  your  attachment  for  her,  and  watch  me  like  the  blinded 
moth  fluttering  round  the  blaze,  that  might  consume  me  ?" 

"  Why,  Warland,  you  are  beside  yourself,"  cried  Delaval, 
with  a  gay  laugh,  that  grated  on  the  ears  of  Marcus.  "What 
has  happened  since  we  left  college  to  put  such  an  idea  in  your 
head  ?  I  am  sure  we  parted  in  all  warmth  and  confidence." 

Marcus  told  Delaval  the  transient  glimpse  he  had  caught  of 
himself  and  L'eclair  by  the  running  brook,  and  the  conviction 
that  was  forced  upon  his  mind. 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SHIINO.  125 

"  My  dear  fellow/'  said  Delaval,  laughing,  and  blushing  at 
the  same  time ;  "  is  that  all  ?  Why,  the  poor  girl  was  weary, 
and  there  was  no  back  to  the  log,  and  I  could  not  help  sup 
porting  her.  I  acknowledge  that  I  love  her,  Warland ;  but  if 
my  love  interfere  with  your  happiness,  I  promise  to  root  it 
from  my  heart.  Come,  let  us  dismiss  this  subject  for  the  pre 
sent.  I  long  to  introduce  Florence  to  you.  I  wish  she  might 
rival  that  witch  of  a  I/  eclair." 

Delaval  conducted  Marcus  through  a  long  hall  to  a  large 
and  brilliantly  lighted  drawing-room,  where  two  ladies  were 
seated  on  a  sofa,  the  farther  side  of  the  room.  The  elder  lady, 
whom  Delaval  introduced  as  Mrs.  Lewis,  rose  and  advanced 
near  the  door  to  greet  the  stranger,  whom  Delaval  had  warmly 
recommended  to  her  favour.  The  younger  remained  seated, 
her  face  averted  from  the  light;  and  shaded  by  a  cloud  of 
jetty  ringlets. 

"  Florence,"  said  Delaval,  drawing  Marcus  towards  the  sofa, 
"  this  is  my  friend,  Marcus  Warland.  Warland,  this  is  my 
sister  Florence,  a  very  provoking,  but  rather  clever  girl,  on 
the  whole." 

The  young  lady  stood  up  and  turned  towards  Marcus,  with 
a  crimson  cheek  and  a  smiling  lip.  The  resplendent  eyes  of 
L'eclair  flashed  laughingly  upon  him. 

"  L'eclair  !"  he  exclaimed,  snatching  the  hand  she  only  half 
extended.  "  L'eclair,  you  have  indeed  made  a  plaything  of 
me — you  too,  Delaval,"  said  he,  bending  on  him  his  now  radiant 
countenance ;  "  you,  too,  have  been  leagued  against  me." 

"  It  is  all  Tier  doings,"  replied  Delaval.  "  I  told  you  she  was 
the  most  self-willed  little  gipsy  in  the  universe.  She  would  make 
me  do  just  what  she  pleased,  sadly  against  my  own  conscience." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  something  to  answer  for,"  said  Mar 
cus,  "in  denying  your  office  of  carrier-dove,  with  such  offended 
majesty." 

"  You  recollect,  Warland,  I  never  actually  denied  it.  I  as 
sumed  a  lofty  tone,  implying  the  impossibility  of  my  doing  any 
thing  so  silly  and  girl-like,  as  I  really  think  it  was." 


126  MARCUS  WAB.LAND;  OR, 

"  Let  me  entreat  you  both/'  cried  Florence,  with  an  aii  of 
charming  ingenuousness,  "never  to  allude  to  those  acts  of  folly, 
which  have  long  since  cost  me  my  own  self-esteem.  Had  I 
then  felt  as  I  do  now,  worlds  would  not  have  tempted  me  into 
such  reckless  disregard  of  what  is  due  to  myself."  Blushing 
at  the  energy  of  her  expressions,  she  added,  "  Let  all  this  be 
forgotten,  with  the  name  of  L'eclair.  I  am  henceforth  Florence 
• — Florence  to  both.  Pray  don't  call  me  Miss  Delaval,  Mr. 
Wai-land ;  I  could  not  tolerate  that." 

"  And  pray  don't  call  me  Mr.  Warland,  then.  I  have  never 
been  Mistered  yet,  and  I  hope  the  formal  title  will  not  com 
mence  on  your  lips." 

"  What  shall  I  call  you  ? — Master  Marcus  Warland  ?" 

"  I  am  Marcus,  at  home — Warland,  in  college.  I  love 
home-born  associations  best." 

"  Well,  you  shall  be  Marcus  to  me,  and  Warland  to  George ; 
so  both  appellations  shall  be  honoured." 

Mrs.  Lewis  had  left  the  room,  and  the  trio  sat  on  the  sofa, 
in  the  full  light  and  joy  of  restored  confidence.  Marcus  could 
hardly  identify  himself  with  the  sternly-resolving  being  of  the 
hour  before.  He  wondered  at  his  own  stupidity  in  believing 
it  possible  that  the  frank,  the  generous,  the  manly  Delaval 
^ould  be  treacherous  and  betraying ;  the  wild,  the  impulsive, 
the  high-souled  L'eclair  a  cold,  vain,  deceiving  flirt.  Never 
had  he  seen  her  so  lovely,  so  fascinating  as  at  this  moment. 
The  bright  nymph  of  the  fountain,  the  brilliant  incognita  of 
the  pen,  the  graceful  muse  of  the  ball-room,  were  less  inte 
resting  and  attractive,  than  the  young  girl  in  her  simple  juvenile 
dress,  her  dazzling  charms,  softened  and  tempered  by  the  mel 
lowing  light  of  home,  responding  alternately  to  her  brother's 
playful  jeus  d'esprit,  and  to  the  now  fluent  tongue  of  Marcus. 

When  supper  was  announced,  they  were  joined  by  the  dig 
nified  uncle,  Mr.  Alston,  the  guardian  of  Florence  and  her 
brother.  He  was  a  very  cold,  silent  gentleman,  but  studiously 
polite  in  his  manners.  He  was  elaborately  aristocratic  in  every 
thing  he  said  and  did ;  aristocratic  in  dress,  in  equipage,  and 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  127 

Ins  whole  demeanour.  He  was  oppressively  polite  to  Marcus, 
whose  position  at  college  was  so  distinguished,  and  who,  as 
the  ward  of  Mr.  Bellamy,  had  a  passport  to  the  best  families 
in  the  South.  Mrs.  Lewis,  who  presided  at  the  table,  had  a 
mild  and  prepossessing  countenance,  and  performed  the  honours 
of  hospitality  with  less  show  but  more  grace  than  the  stately 
Mr.  Alston.  Though  he  conversed  but  little,  he  sometimes 
made  set  speeches,  and  he  deemed  this  a  proper  occasion  for 
one.  Laying  down  his  knife  and  fork,  and  folding  his  hands, 
he  said, — 

"  I  am  very  happy,  Mr.  Warland,  to  welcome  you  to  Wood 
Lawn.  I  observed  with  great  pleasure  the  manner  in  which 
you  distinguished  yourself  at  the  university,  and  the  high  ho 
nours  which  you  obtained.  Mr.  Bellamy  is  a  gentleman,  too, 
whom  I  respect  very  highly  as  a  gentleman,  and  as  a  man  of 
wealth  and  family.  I  am  exceedingly  particular  with  whom  I 
associate,  or  admit  as  companions  to  my  nephew  and  niece.  It 
is  difficult  to  break  off  low  associations,  much  better  never  to 
form  them.  I  consider  you  in  every  respect  an  unexceptiona 
ble  young  gentleman ;  and  I  again  repeat,  I  am  happy  to  wel 
come  you  to  Wood  Lawn." 

With  a  dignified  and  self-respecting  bow,  Mr.  Alston  resumed 
his  knife  and  fork.  It  was  not  without  a  great  effort  that  Mar 
cus  preserved  proper  gravity  of  demeanour  during  this  elabo 
rate  address,  for  a  bright  eyebeam  from  Florence,  full  of  mirth 
and  mischief,  played  upon  him  for  a  moment  with  contagious 
power.  Delaval,  too,  wore  a  look  of  such  assumed  and  patient 
attention,  that  Marcus  found  his  only  safety  was  in  looking  at 
Mr.  Alston,  and  appearing  duly  honoured  by  the  august  greet 
ing.  He  replied  with  the  simplest  possible  expression  of  gra 
titude,  hoping  he  might  be  spared  a  similar  infliction. 

When  the  supper  was  concluded,  and  they  returned  to  the 
drawing-room,  Marcus  felt  a  rebound  of  all  his  faculties,  so 
heavy  had  been  the  weight  of  Mr.  Alston's  overpowering  aris 
tocracy.  He  was  convinced,  that  had  Uncle  Simon  made  tho 
same  revelations  before  him  that  he  had  before  the  stranger 


128  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

of  the  boat,  he  would  not  have  given  him  that  studied  welcome. 
Delaval  placed  Florence  at  the  piano,  and  called  forth  her  most 
exhilarating  strains.  At  first  she  played  only  the  gayest  waltzes 
and  quicksteps,  and  Marcus  feared  the  vocal  charm  was  want 
ing,  to  give  a  soul  to  her  brilliant  execution.  But  he  was  mis 
taken.  Florence  had  a  sweet  and  powerful  voice,  and  one  capa 
ble  of  expressing  the  deepest  and  saddest  feelings.  Indeed, 
its  greatest  fascination  consisted  in  a  certain  tremulous,  tearful 
sound,  expressive  of  unfathomable  sensibility.  It  reminded  you 
of  Juliet  weeping  over  the  tomb  of  her  Eomeo,  Cordelia  mourn 
ing  over  her  white-locked  maniac  sire,  Viola  hiding  in  her  heart 
the  love  that  fed  upon  her  damask  cheek.  It  was  evident  that 
she  felt  what  she  sang,  for  her  countenance  changed  with  every 
changing  note.  Marcus  could  not  have  believed  it  possible 
that  it  could  express  such  depth  of  melancholy;  but  when  she 
sat,  with  her  long  lashes  drooping  towards  her  cheek,  its  car 
nation  hue  melting  into  the  softest  olive,  and  her  arch  and 
smiling  lip  quivering  with  tenderness,  he  repeated  to  himself, 
again  and  again, — 

"  Oh,  what  a  heart  is  there  !  what  capabilities  of  love  and 
passion  lie  hidden  under  that  usually  gay,  brilliant  exterior ! 
what  equal  capacities  for  sorrow  and  despair !  Charming,  im 
passioned  L' eclair  !  were  it  mine  to  awaken  the  first,  how  care 
fully,  how  jealously  would  I  guard  thee  from  the  last." 

"  Come,  lady  fair,  give  us  a  blither  measure,"  cried  Delaval. 
"  Warland  looks  as  if  he  were  turning  into  a  weeping  willow, 
and  I  have  saturated  my  white  handkerchief  already." 

It  was  astonishing  with  what  rapidity  she  dashed  into  one 
of  the  most  inspiring,  exciting  airs  of  the  day.  The  soft,  veil 
ing  mist  vanished  from  her  eyes,  the  carnation  came  back  to 
her  cheek,  the  smile  to  her  lip.  Then  Marcus  said  to  himself, 
with  a  sigh, — 

"  Where  there  is  such  wondrous  versatility  of  feeling,  can 
there  be  really  depth  and  strength  ?  Is  it  not  superficial,  after 
ail  ?  She  calls  me  an  enigma.  Never  was  there  one  like  her." 

Marcus  was  to  remain  several  days  with  his  friend,  and 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  129 

bright  and  pleasant  days  they  were.  Mr.  Alston,  at  each  meal, 
inflicted  upon  him  one  of  his  formal  addresses,  but  as  he  was 
now  prepared  for  them,  he  knew  better  how  to  reply.  He 
found  that  Florence  had  a  highly  cultivated  mind  for  so  young 
a  girl ;  that  she  was  a  passionate  lover  of  books,  with  a  mar 
vellous  memory  that  retained  all  she  read.  She  took  him  to 
her  library,  a  small  and  tastefully  decorated  room,  opening  by 
a  bow-window  into  the  garden.  Full,  rich,  scarlet  curtains 
shaded  this  window,  looped  up  on  each  side  to  let  in  the  light, 
and  a  sweet-scented  vine  that  came  clambering  up  of  its  own 
accord  and  twined  about  the  frame. 

"  I  know,"  said  Florence,  sweeping  aside  the  folds  of  the 
curtains,  so  as  to  give  him  a  broader  view  of  the  gilded  tomes; 
"  I  know  it  is  in  very  bad  taste  to  have  this  red  drapery  to 
adorn  a  library.  It  should  be  green,  dark  classic  green,  or 
imperial  purple  ;  but  neither  green  nor  purple  will  do  to  bring 
in  contact  with  my  Egyptian  face.  I  must  contrast  it  with 
the  brilliant  scarlet,  or  gorgeous  orange.  These  volumes," 
continued  she,  pointing  to  some  of  more  massy  form  and  an 
tique  binding,  "  were  my  father's,  and  belong  by  right  to 
George,  though  I  find  much  to  admire  and  venerate  in  the  old 
masters,  and  sometimes,  when  I  change  their  position  and 
wipe  the  dust  from  the  binding,  I  stand,  like  Dominie  Samp 
son,  mounted  on  that  flight  of  steps,  forgetful  of  time  or  place. 
These  shelves,"  added  she,  turning  to  a  lighter,  more  orna 
mented  range,  "  are  all  my  own,  exclusively  my  own.  It  is 
here  I  feel  the  wizard  spell  of  genius,  and  wander  in  the  moon 
light  climes  of  poetry  and  romance." 

"  And  it  is  here,"  said  Marcus,  laying  his  hand  on  a  superb 
portfolio  that  was  laid  upon  the  table ;  "  here  you  enclose  the 
burning  thoughts,  whose  influence  other  minds  must  own  and 
feel.  Here  you  imprison  the  electric  fire,  whose  sparks  might 
kindle  the  coldest  substance,  and  even  pass  through  insulating 
mediums." 

"  Does  Marcus  Warland  condescend  to  flatter  ?"  asked  she, 

with  a  dash  of  scorn  in  her  manner.    "  Oh !  if  you  knew  how 
00 


130  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

I  detest  flattery  !  I  have  had  so  much  of  it,  merely  because 
I  am  an  heiress,  and  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  my  parents 
when  I  was  very  young.  I  was  two  years  at  a  northern  school, 
and  found  my  true  level  there.  When  I  attended  your  com 
mencement  I  had  just  returned,  and  found  it  very  difficult  to 
persuade  George  not  to  acknowledge  me  as  his  sister  on  that 
occasion." 

"If  he  had/'  said  Marcus,  colouring,  "I  should  have  been 
saved  some  keen  after-pangs." 

"  How  is  that  ?"  cried  she  quickly,  without  looking  up. 

"  I  should  not  then  have  mistaken  the  affection  of  a  brother  for 
the  permitted  endearments  of  a  lover,"  replied  Marcus,  em 
boldened  by  her  vivid  blushes. 

"And  why  should  that  pain  you,  selfish  being  that  you 
are  ?"  said  she  with  her  own  peculiar,  mocking  smile.  "  Is 
the  heart  so  narrow  that  it  can  contain  but  one  object  of  in 
terest?  Is  it  a  dungeon,  where  the  poor  captive  sits  in  soli 
tary  confinement,  pining  for  the  fresh  air  that  struggles 
through  the  iron  grate  ?  Cannot  I  love  George,  and  like  you, 
and  fifty  others  too,  if  I  choose  ?  I  feel  that  I  have  a  magni 
ficently  large  heart." 

"Florence — L' Eclair,"  cried  he,  earnestly ;  "though  your 
heart  were  as  large  as  the  whole  universe,  it  should  not  have  room 
for  another  love  than  mine,  if  I  once  gained  admittance  there. 
I  speak  not  of  sisterly  affection,  friendship,  or  esteem.  I  speak 
of  love — such  love  as  you  were  born  to  inspire,  and  I  was  born 
to  feel." 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  talk  of  love,"  said  she,  fluttering  the 
leaves  of  a  book  she  held  in  her  hand ;  "  I  want  you  to  be  my 
friend,  my  true  and  sincere  friend.  I  want  you  to  tell  me  of 
my  faults,  as  you  did  when  we  first  met  at  the  university;  to 
speak  to  me  in  that  tone  of  beautiful,  solemn  earnestness,  to 
make  me  feel  that  you  are  above  me,  that  I  have  something 
to  reach  after  and  attain.  But  don't  go  to  talking  raptures, 
and  so  forth.  Don't  try  to  make  me  feel  my  power.  I  shall 
grow  wilful,  haughty,  and  overbearing — and  then" 


THE  LONG  MOSS   SPRING.  131 

"And  then/'  said  Marcus,  with  calm  self-possession,  "you 
would  have  no  power  over  me  at  all.  The  moment  you  tried 
to  make  me  feel  the  weight  of  chains,  I  could  break  them  as  easi 
ly  as  the  unshorn  giant  did  the  green  withes  that  bound  him." 

"  I  have  always  dreaded  the  idea  of  love,"  she  said,  more 
seriously ;  "  because  I  know,  if  I  once  yielded  to  its  power,  I 
should  become  far  more  of  a  vassal  than  any  slave  on  this 
broad  plantation.  There  is  something  terrible  to  me  in  the 
thought  of  giving  one's  happiness  so  completely  in  another's 
power ;  to  hang  trembling,  palpitating  on  the  frail  dependency 
of  another's  truth  and  constancy.  No  !"  she  added,  command 
ing  the  agitation  of  her  voice,  and  waving  back  her  ringlets 
with  sportive  grace.  "  Let  me  follow  my  own  volitions,  for  at 
least  three  or  four  years  to  come;  let  me  enjoy  my  emancipa 
tion  from  daily  rules  and  scholastic  discipline ;  let  my  mind 
soar  unfettered  to  the  heights  where  I  wish  to  stand,  and  then 
perhaps,  when  I  am  more  worthy  of  the  heart's  homage,  I  may 
be  tempted  to  wear  those  bonds,  which,  though  covered  with 
roses  and  seeming  light  as  air,  must  be  stronger  than  steel, 
and  heavier  than  iron." 

"  Listen  to  me  one  moment,  Florence,"  said  he,  taking  her 
hand,  and  seating  her  within  the  shadow  of  the  scarlet  cur 
tains,  while  he  sat  down  by  her  side.  "  We  are  both  very 
young,  I  know,  but  we  may  talk  of  the  future,  may  we  not  ?" 

"  The  future  !"  repeated  she ;  "  that  seems  a  mighty  shadow 
rolling  far,  far  off." 

"Of  the  past,  then — those  lightning  letters." 

"  Ah  !  you  promised  never  to  allude  to  them." 

"  I  did  not  promise,  Florence,  though  you  required  the 
bond.  Those  letters  sealed  my  destiny.  They  showed  our 
minds  were  one.  The  divided  unity  has  been  brought  together 
by  those  electric  sparks,  and  thinks,  and  feels,  and  glows  in 
unison.  It  was  not  chance  that  brought  us  together  at  the 
fountain's  side.  It  was  not  an  idle  whim  that  prompted  you  to 
write  those  kindling  words.  It  was  the  impulse  of  the  soul  seek 
ing  its  kindred  soul,  the  heart  reaching  after  the  mutual  heart ' 


132  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

At  this  moment,  when  all  the  softness  and  sensibility  of 
womanhood  mellowed  the  brightness  of  her  countenance,  and 
her  lip  trembled  with  unspoken  words,  Delaval  opened  the 
door,  and,  laughing,  was  about  to  close  it  again.  Florence 
sprang  up  and  detained  him. 

"  Your  friend  is  too  metaphysical  for  me,"  she  said.  "  I 
cannot  fathom  him.  He  is  a  Transcendentalist." 

"Well,  I  want  him  to  take  a  ride  on  horseback  with  me 
over  the  plantation.  That  will  clear  away  the  German  mists 
from  his  brain.  Supposing  you  come  with  us.  You  will  be 
a  far  better  guide  than  I  am,  for  there  is  not  a  nook  or  dingle 
you  have  not  explored." 

Away  flew  Florence,  apparently  as  much  excited  at  the 
thought  of  riding  as  if  there  were  no  such  thing  as  sentiment 
in  the  world.  She  soon  appeared,  equipped  in  a  dark  riding- 
dress,  and  cap  with  black,  drooping  feathers.  It  looked  like 
the  same  she  had  worn  when  he  first  saw  her,  demurely  wait 
ing  for  her  recreant  pony ;  but  as  she  had  grown  since  that 
period,  it  must  have  been  another,  made  in  a  similar  fashion. 
Instead  of  the  recreant  brown  pony,  she  mounted  a  beautiful 
white  horse,  which  displayed  the  dark  outlines  of  her  figure  to 
great  advantage.  Wild  and  fearless,  she  dashed  ahead,  regard 
less  of  obstructions,  and  mocking  the  speed  of  her  companions. 

"  This  is  my  life,"  said  she  to  Marcus,  as  they  paused  to 
admire  the  rich  rolling  expanse  of  the  cotton-field,  bearing  the 
downy  wealth  of  the  South.  "  I  am  a  far  better  overseer  than 
the  one  my  uncle  hires.  The  negroes  will  work  better  for  their 
young  mistress  than  anybody  else ;  and  sometimes  I  jump 
from  my  horse  and  pick  cotton  with  the  little  negroes,  to  let 
them  see  how  fast  it  can  be  done." 

"  You  must  not  do  that  any  more,  Florence,"  said  Delaval. 
"  It  would  do  well  enough  in  the  child,  but  not  in  the  young 
woman,  who  is  joint  heiress  of  these  noble  fields." 

"  Oh  !  I  do  detest  the  idea  of  being  a  woman,"  exclaimed 
Florence.  "  I  wish  I  could  always  be  a  child.  Mrs.  Lewis  is 
always  telling  me, ( Florence,  you  forget  how  old  you  are  grow- 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  133 

ing;  you  must  be  steadier  now/  Dear,  stiff,  formal  undo 
cries,  in  his  solemn  accents,  'Niece,  it  is  time  that  you  remem 
ber  the  dignity  and  responsibility  of  your  station  /  and  even  pro 
voking  George  begins  to  tutor  me,  and  set  me  up  on  the  stilts 
of  womanhood  and  heiress-ship.  Marcus,  I  hope  you  at  least 
will  not  preach  me  out  of  the  wild  freedom  of  childhood  yet." 

There  was  something  so  extremely  juvenile  in  her  appear 
ance,  with  her  curls  wreathing  and  sporting  with  the  feathers 
that  drooped  over  her  cheeks ;  such  freshness,  and  buoyancy, 
and  life  about  her,  that  Marcus  did  think  it  would  be  a  pity 
to  restrain  that  wild  grace,  and  brush  off  that  dewy  bloom  from 
her  bright,  morning  spirit.  He  was  about  to  say  as  much, 
when  she  darted  off  in  a  new  direction,  leaving  no  guide  but  a 
gay  laugh  ringing  through  the  woods,  by  which  to  follow 
her  course. 

When  they  were  returned  they  found  a  visitor  had  arrived 
during  their  absence, — a  young  gentleman  by  the  name  of 
Pellani,  whose  father  was  a  particular  friend  of  Mr.  Alston, 
and  who  was  well  known  to  Delaval.  Marcus  could  not  help 
feeling  a  natural  recoil  and  disgust  when  he  recognised  the 
insolent  stranger  of  the  ferry-boat  in  the  new  guest  at  "Wood 
Lawn,  and  the  bow  with  which  he  acknowledged  the  courteous 
introduction  of  Delaval  breathed  the  very  soul  of  haughtiness. 
He  could  not  help  it.  He  could  not  forget  the  scornful  stare, 
the  supercilious  smile,  the  air  of  conscious  superiority,  which 
had  set  all  his  passions  boiling,  on  the  waters  of  the  Chatta- 
hoochee.  They  all  left  the  room  to  change  their  dress  before 
supper,  and  Marcus  had  time  to  reflect  on  the  probable  conse 
quences  of  the  meeting.  He  knew  the  sovereign  aristocracy 
of  Mr.  Alston  would  look  down  on  the  son  of  a  ferryman  anc! 
overseer,  whatever  other  claims  he  might  have  to  consideration 
and  regard.  Would  Delaval  be  governed  by  such  petty  pride  ? 
Would  Florence  ?  He  now  regretted  the  silence  Mr.  Bellamy 
had  imposed  on  the  subject.  Had  Delaval  known  all  the 
realities  of  his  condition,  and  then  invited  him  to  his  home, 
he  could  not  fear  the  arrogance  that  now  threatened  to  annoy 


1-U  MARCUS   WARLAND;   OR, 

Iiim.  He  lingered  in  his  room,  fearing  he  might  lose  his  self- 
control  in  the  presence  of  Florence,  if  he  again  met  that  inso 
lent,  measuring  glance  of  pride.  Slowly  he  walked  through 
the  carpeted  hall,  and  reached  the  door  of  the  drawing-room. 
Pellam  and  Mr.  Alston  were  sitting  with  their  backs  to  the 
door;  Delaval  and  Florence  in  an  oblique  direction.  Neither 
observed  the  approach  of  Marcus,  so  intent  were  they  on  the 
words  of  the  speaker,  who  was  Pellam,  the  new  guest. 

"  I  repeat,"  said  he,  emphatically,  "  that  his  father  was  a 
low  ferryman,  and  is  now  a  common  overseer.  He  was  bred 
to  the  ferryman's  trade.  I  saw  him  push  the  boat  myself.  I 
heard  the  old  negro  talk  about  his  father.  I  inquired,  and 
found  it  was  all  true.  I  am  willing  to  take  my  oath  upon 
its  truth." 

"  "Tis  false,"  exclaimed  Florence,  in  a  passionate  tone. 
"  lie  brought  up  in  a  ferryman's  hut.  Jits  father  an  overseer, 
Never !" 

"  This  cannot  be  true,"  cried  Delaval,  indignantly.  "  I  was 
•with  him  three  years  in  college,  and  never  heard  a  word  of  it 
before." 

Before  the  young  man  could  reply,  Marcus  advanced  into 
the  room,  and  walking  in  front  of  Pellam,  said,  in  rather  a 
husky  tone  of  voice,  "  Is  it  of  me  you  are  speaking,  sir  ?" 

"  It  is,"  answered  the  young  man,  drawing  back  a  few  paces, 
and  placing  a  chair  between  him  and  Marcus. 

"  Deny  it,  Marcus,"  cried  Florence,  "  it  is  nothing  but  slan 
der — we  all  know  it  is." 

The  earnestness  with  which  Florence  spoke;  her  excited 
countenance;  the  indignant  looks  which  Delaval  darted  towards 
Pellam  ;  the  cold,  austere  mien  of  Mr.  Alston,  staggered  the 
faith  of  Marcus  in  his  own  triumphant  power  to  resist  the  pre 
judices  of  education  on  the  part  of  his  friends,  and  the  narrow 
pride  of  the  man  of  wealth  and  family.  But  he  was  glad  the 
trial  came  when  it  did.  He  wanted  to  see  the  innate  nobility 
of  Florence  put  to  a  shining  test. 

tl  I  cannot  deny  it,"  said  he,  folding  his  arms  across  his 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  135 

breast,  "I  cannot  deny  what  is  truth,  and  nothing  but  the 

truth." 

% 

Mr.  Alston  rose  with  an  air  of  offended  dignity,  "  This  is 
very  surprising/'  said  he,  "  a  very  surprising  case.  I  did  not 
imagine  my  friend  Bellamy  would  have  imposed  on  us  in  this 
manner.  I,  who  have  always  been  so  particular  to  select  ir 
reproachable  companions  for  my  nephew  and  niece,  to  be  so 
grossly  deceived  I" 

He  put  his  hands  behind  him,  and  walked  across  the  room 
with  an  exceedingly  imposing  demeanour. 

"  I  cannot  allow  a  reflection  to  be  cast  on  my  noble,  my  ex 
cellent  benefactor,"  cried  Marcus,  with  warmth.  "  He  wished 
me  to  conceal  those  circumstances  in  my  father's  life  connected 
with  the  story  of  his  misfortunes  and  sorrows,  and  I  obeyed 
him.  Perhaps,  knowing  the  world  better  than  myself,  he  was 
aware  there  were  some  contracted  minds,  who,  measuring  me 
by  their  own  narrow  standard,  would  expose  me  to  the  insults 
of  this  hour.  But  let  me  tell  you,  sir,  that  my  father  is  a  man 
of  birth  equal  to  your  own,  and  of  an  education  inferior  to 
none  of  the  magnates  of  the  land.  My  mother  was  the  daugh 
ter  of  a  Virginia  planter,  who  boasted  of  the  royal  blood  of 
Pocahontas  flowing  in  her  veins.  Of  the  misfortunes  that  im 
poverished  my  father,  and  induced  him  to  seek  the  solitude  of 
the  river's  shore,  I  cannot — ought  not  to  speak.  If  my  young 
hand  was  taught  to  stem  the  current  of  the  rushing  river,  it 
has  only  been  nerved  with  stronger  power  to  resist," — here 
he  cast  a  withering  glance  at  Pcllam,  who  was  still  intrenched 
behind  the  mahogany  chair, — "  to  resist  the  arrogance  that 
would  degrade,  and  the  haughtiness  that  would  oppress.  Mr. 
Bellamy,  sir,  visited  us  in  the  house  of  my  father's  darkened 
fortunes,  and  seeing  him  to  be  a  gentleman  in  education  and 
manners  equal  to  himself,  and  taking  an  interest  in  my  then 
boyish  self,  drew  us  from  the  obscurity  uncongenial  to  our 
character  and  talents.  It  is  true  my  father  has  assisted  him. 
in  overseeing  his  plantation.  It  is  true  he  has  borne  the  heat 
and  burden  of  a  day  of  care,  in  gratitude  and  fidelity  to  his 


136  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

generous  friend.  But  he  is  no  hireling,  eating  the  bread 
earned  by  mercenary  wages.  JTe  is  the  honoured  friend,  the 
revered  companion,  the  respected  counsellor,  the  adopted 
brother  of  the  first  and  best  of  men.  If  I  have  concealed  these 
circumstances,  it  is  not  that  I  am  ashamed  to  avow  them,  but 
because  I  have  been  bound  by  a  promise  during  the  years  of 
my  minority.  I  rejoice  that  they  are  revealed.  They  reflect 
lustre  on  my  father's  present  reputation,  for  greater  is  he  who 
has  resisted  temptation  than  the  conqueror  of  nations.  They 
give  beauty  and  dignity  to  the  name  of  Bellamy,  and  they  gild 
with  honour,  yea,  three-fold  honour,  my  own  springing  laurels." 

Marcus  spoke  with  a  fervour  and  enthusiasm  and  strength 
that  brought  the  burning  blood  to  his  cheek  and  a  burning  fire 
to  his  eyes,  and  a  trumpet  tone  to  his  voice,  that  voice  which 
was  yet  to  ring  like  a  silver  clarion  in  the  walls  of  his  country's 
capitol. 

Delaval  sprang  forward,  and  seizing  Marcus  by  both  hands, 
exclaimed,  "  Warland,  you  are  a  glorious  fellow — I  always  said 
you  were.  I  like  you  better  than  I  did  before,  a  thousand  times 
better ;  and  by  the  shade  of  Cicero,  (this  was  Delaval's  stand 
ing  oath,)  I  would  fight  my  own  brother,  if  I  had  one,  who 
should  dare  to  speak  disrespectfully  of  your  father  in  my  pre 
sence.  Florence,  tell  him  that  you  echo  your  brother's  feel 
ings  ;  let  him  not  believe,  for  one  moment,  that  you  could  be 
swayed  by  mean  and  sordid  influences." 

"  I  blush  for  the  momentary  pride  I  betrayed  at  first,"  cried 
Florence,  with  blushing  ingenuousness.  "  The  circumstances, 
as  he  has  explained  them,  have  only  ennobled  him  in  my  esti 
mation,  and  they  who  sought  to  lower  have  only  elevated  him 
in  my  eyes." 

"  Miss  Delaval,  you  are  too  demonstrative,"  said  Mr.  Alston, 
with  a  stately  wave  of  his  delicate  hand.  "  I  see  no  occasion 
for  any  expression  of  feeling  on  your  part.  Remember,  you 
have  a  dignity  to  maintain,  a  station  to  adorn." 

"  Dignity — station  !"  repeated  Florence,  in  a  low,  scornful 
tone,  sheathing  with  their  long  lashes  the  lightnings  of  her 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  137 

eyes.  "  They  cannot  squeeze  my  soul  into  a  thumb-screw;  the 
familiars  of  the  Inquisition  could  not  do  it." 

The  supper-bell  rang,  and  Mr.  Alston,  waving  his  hand  to 
Mr.  Pellam,  who  very  gladly  led  the  way  from  the  room,  where 
he  could  not  but  feel  he  had  disgraced  himself  in  his  impotent 
attempt  to  depreciate  another,  turned  to  Marcus  with  another 
wave  of  the  hand ;  but  Marcus  stood  still. 

"  I  sit  not  at  your  board,  nor  sleep  under  your  roof  again, 
sir/'  said  he,  in  a  calm,  respectful  tone,  "  till  I  am  requested 
to  do  it,  as  an  equal  to  yourself,  your  nephew,  and  the  gentle 
man  now  your  guest." 

"  Warland,  you  are  my  guest,"  interrupted  Delaval,  hastily. 

"  I  was  never  deficient  in  the  duties  of  hospitality,"  said  Mr. 
Alston,  "  and  I  invite  you,  as  the  guest  of  my  nephew,  to  take 
your  accustomed  seat;  by  so  doing,  I  hope  I  neutralize  the 
effect  of  any  remarks  that  may  have  offended  your  pride." 

With  a  stiff  bow,  he  crossed  the  threshold,  and  Marcus, 
biting  his  lip  and  smoothing  his  brow,  took  the  arm  of  Delaval 
and  went  to  the  supper-table.  He  there  conversed  with  his 
usual  ease  with  Mrs.  Lewis,  Delaval,  and  Florence,  but  he  ate 
nothing ;  and  when  the  supper  was  concluded,  he  took  Dela 
val  apart. 

"  We  must  leave  to-morrow,"  said  he,  "  at  least,  /  must. 
Your  uncle  does  not  look  upon  me  as  he  did  before,  and  the 
presence  of  this  young  man  is  intolerable  to  me." 

"  Not  more  so  to  you  than  to  me,"  cried  Delaval.  "  He  is 
an  upstart,  a  proud,  ignorant,  thick-headed  coxcomb,  who  has 
fixed  his  presumptuous  eyes  upon  Florence,  caring  for  nothing 
but  her  wealth.  He  thought  the  proud  heiress  would  look  upon 
you  with  disdain,  after  the  knowledge  he  imparted.  He  aspire 
to  such  a  girl  as  Florence  !  When  a  frog  catches  the  star  that 
shines  upon  the  pond,  then  Florence  will  look  down  on  him. 
Never  mind  my  uncle,  Warland ;  he  can't  unbend,  his  back  is 
too  stiff.  He  never  lost  his  perpendicularity  in  his  life.  Be 
sides,  /am  the  real  master  here;  he  is  only  the  guardian,  and 
invested  with  delegated  rights." 


188  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

"Nevertheless,  we  had  better  start  in  the  morning.  It  is 
best  that  we  should.  A  few  days  more  will  make  but  little 
difference  to  you,  and  it  may  be  of  great  consequence  to  me." 

"  "Well,  I  am  ready.  I  dare  say  you  are  right.  But  I  do 
wish  that  blockheaded  Pellam  had  stayed  away." 

They  made  their  arrangements  immediately.  They  were  to 
start  very  early  in  the  morning,  before  the  family  rose,  and 
bade  their  adieus  before  retiring  for  the  night.  Florence,  who 
would  not  sit  down  with  Pellam,  had  taken  a  light  and  with 
drawn  to  the  library,  while  Delaval  and  Marcus  were  making 
their  hasty  preparations.  There  the  young  men  followed  her. 

"  Florence,"  said  Delaval,  "  we  have  come  to  bid  you  good 
bye  ;  we  start  in  the  morning,  at  daybreak." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  she,  with  an  agitated  voice.  "  You 
cannot  wish  to  remain  while  that  intruding  guest  is  here."  She 
added  this  with  an  expression  of  the  most  sovereign  contempt. 

"We  leave  him  to  your  tender  mercies,"  said  Delaval,  "as 
sured  that  you  will  not  forget  what  is  due  to  the  dignity  of 
your  station,  as  our  sapient  uncle  so  often  remarks." 

Marcus,  when  he  was  last  in  that  library,  had  spoken  freely 
and  boldly  to  Florence  of  the  strong  sympathy  that  drew  them 
to  each  other ;  now,  he  was  resolved  to  make  himself  a  name 
and  fame  before  he  addressed  the  young  heiress  in  the  language 
of  love.  The  time  which  would  elapse  before  they  again  met 
would  prove  their  minds  and  hearts.  He  felt  confidence  in 
himself,  confidence  in  her,  but  his  eyes  alone  betrayed  the 
emotions  he  felt. 

"  You  will  write  often,  George,"  said  she,  when  the  parting 
moment  came.  "  You  will  both  write ;  will  you  not  ?" 

"  I  waited  only  for  your  permission,"  replied  Marcus.  "But 
may  I  not  address  you  as  L' eclair,  when  I  write  ?  No  other 
name  will  seem  appropriate  as  a  correspondent." 

"  Write  as  the  spirit  prompts,"  said  Florence,  with  a  bril 
liant  blush.  "  I  believe  in  impulses,  after  all." 

Marcus  felt  his  stoical  resolutions  melting  away.  It  was 
evident  that  Florence  wished  to  convince  him  that  malice  had 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  189 

not  shaken  the  hold  he  had  on  her  esteem.  Never  had  she 
spoken  so  feelingly,  so  confidingly. 

"  I  don't  like  long  good-byes/'  cried  Delaval,  "  so  God  bless 
you,  sweet  sis,  and  watch  over  you,  till  I  see  you  again." 

Florence  wept,  as  he  clasped  her  in  a  warm,  fraternal  em 
brace,  and  clung  to  him  in  unwillingness  to  let  him  go.  He 
was  her  only  brother,  and  two  years  of  absence  was  a  long, 
long  time,  and  perhaps  other  regrets  which  she  dared  not 
avow  gave  intensity  to  her  emotions.  It  was  strange  to  see 
tears  flowing  from  the  sunbright  eyes  of  Florence,  and  Dela- 
val  wiped  the  moisture  from  his  own  several  times. 

"  Why,  my  brave  sis,"  he  cried,  releasing  himself  from  her 
arms,  "  this  will  never  do.  Reserve  one  kiss  and  one  tear 
for  Marcus,  your  other,  better  brother." 

Thus  authorized,  Marcus  kissed  the  crimson  cheek  that  rested 
a  moment  on  his  shoulder.  It  was  the  first  time  his  lips  had 
given,  or  her  cheek  received  the  kiss  of  love,  and  it  was  love,  the 
first,  the  only  love  that  had  ever  wanned  their  young  hearts. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  Judge  not,  frail  man,  thy  brother  man, 

Lest  thou  thyself  be  weigh'd, 
And  wanting  be,  in  those  dread  scales, 
The  Eternal  God  has  made." — ANON. 

OUR  young  southerners  found  themselves,  after  a  pleasant 
and  expeditious  journey,  on  the  granite  hills  of  the  North, 
mingling  with  the  sons  of  those  pilgrim  fathers,  who  centuries 
ago  came  in  the  strength  of  their  faith  and  the  sublimity  of 
their  hopes,  and 

"  Moored  their  bark  on  the  wild  New  England  shore." 

The  wall  of  division  that  seemed  to  separate  them  from  the 
dwellers  of  the  ruder  latitudes  of  our  country  sank  lower  and 
lower  as  they  advanced  into  their  green  and  cultivated  inland 
Paradises,  for  such  they  appeared  in  the  rich  garniture  of 
closing  summer,  While  at  the  South,  the  commencement  of 


140  MARCUS  WARLANDj   OR, 

the  autumnal  season  was  marked  by  here  and  there  a  pallid 
leaf  and  a  crisping  blade,  there  every  thing  was  glowing  with 
the  effulgence  of  vernal  bloom. 

Judge  Cleveland,  who  presided  over  the  law  school  which 
the  young  men  entered,  had  been  a  classmate  of  Mr.  Bellamy, 
who  was  educated  at  a  northern  university.  The  friendship 
formed  between  the  students  had  outlived  the  chilling  influ 
ences  of  time,  separation,  and  opposing  political  interests.  It 
was  this  which  had  induced  Mr.  Bellamy  to  send  his  adopted 
son  to  the  town  where  he  dwelt,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and 
flourishing  of  the  minor  cities  of  the  Eastern  States. 

It  must  be  acknowledged,  that  notwithstanding  the  warm 
encomiums  Mr.  Bellamy  had  given  the  character  of  Judge 
Cleveland,  the  young  southerners  were  imbued  with  some  of 
the  peculiar  prejudices  of  the  region  where  they  were  born, 
against  northern  coldness  and  reserve.  They  expected  to  find 
the  hearts  of  the  people  covered  with  a  cake  of  ice,  clear  and 
pure,  but  cold,  inevitably  cold,  and  though  after  a  while  it 
might  break  or  melt,  still  the  atmosphere  around  them  must 
remain  chilling  and  repulsive.  They  expected  to  meet  with 
strong  and  majestic  intellects,  unrivalled  powers  of  ratiocina 
tion,  and  concentration  of  thought  intense  as  the  solar  rays. 
But  they  did  not  expect  the  urbanity,  the  warmth,  the  genial 
kindness  with  which  Judge  Cleveland  met  them  at  the  door 
of  his  rural  palace,  nor  the  frank  and  sunny  welcome  of  his 
charming  wife.  They  were  to  become  members  of  the  family, 
and  they  were  domiciliated  at  once,  and  invested  with  all  the 
privileges  of  home.  It  was  indeed  fortunate  for  them  that 
their  lines  had  fallen  in  such  a  place.  Judge  Cleveland  was 
one  of  those  men  who  belong  to  mankind,  not  to  the  limited 
portion  that  surrounded  him.  As  the  traveller,  wherever  he 
may  be,  mid  northern  snows  or  southern  blossoms,  when  he 
turns  his  eyes  upon  the  illimitable  firmament,  seems  himself 
the  central  point  of  the  universe,  so  does  such  a  man  appear 
to  those  who  feel  his  influence.  No  matter  what  position  he 
assumes,  he  is  still  the  central  point  towards  which  the  social 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  141 

rays  converge.  He  was  a  patriot,  a  philanthropist,  and  much 
did  he  rnourn  over  the  divided  interests  of  the  two  beautiful 
and  flourishing  regions  of  the  common  country.  Could  he, 
like  the  Roman  Curtius,  have  closed  the  widening  chasm  by 
throwing  his  own  life  into  the  abyss,  and  seen  with  his  dying 
eyes  the  yawning  edges  meeting  over  his  crushed  and  mangled 
limbs,  he  would  gladly  have  done  it,  so  dear  to  his  heart  was 
the  union  which  the  blood  of  his  fathers  had  cemented,  and 
the  spirit  of  Washington  for  ever  hallowed.  All  that  he  could 
he  did,  to  stem  the  misguided  zeal,  that,  espousing  the  cause 
of  one  portion  of  the  human  race,  would  place  the  torch  in  the 
hand  of  the  incendiary,  and  the  knife  in  the  grasp  of  the  assas 
sin,  and  roll  on  a  wave  of  blood  and  flame  over  a  fair  and 
smiling  land. 

Instantaneously  did  the  judge  win  the  confidence  of  the 
warm-hearted  young  men  who  were  placed  under  his  charge. 
There  was  a  mixture  of  majesty  and  mildness,  of  gentleness 
and  firmness  in  his  appearance  and  manner,  that  was  singularly 
pleasing.  If  he  spoke  in  the  circle  of  home  with  the  sweet 
ness  of  woman's  accents,  one  felt  that  he  could  launch  the 
thunderbolt  of  eloquence,  at  the  legal  tribunal.  If  his  large 
gray  eye  beamed  with  benevolence  and  tenderness  on  the  do 
mestic  shrine,  still  there  was  a  latent  spark  in  its  centre,  ready 
to  flash  and  burn  into  the  very  heart  of  the  criminal  arraigned 
before  his  bar. 

They  were  fortunate,  too,  in  the  location  they  had  chosen 
for  their  transient  home  in  the  North.  There  was  no  fairer, 
lovelier  spot,  among  the  fair,  green  fields  of  New  England. 
Mountains,  whose  empurpled  mist  rolled  like  a  royal  drapery 
round  them,  over  which  the  clouds  cast  their  ermine  mantle 
and  the  sunbeams  a  golden  fringe,  guarded,  with  God-born 
strength,  the  sweet,  luxuriant  valley  at  their  feet.  A  magni 
ficent  river,  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  Granite  State,  formed 
its  eastern  boundary,  and  gladdened  and  fertilized  with  its 
clear,  deep,  rejoicing  waters,  the  tranquil  landscape  through 
which  it  flowed.  Nature  seemed  clothed  with  the  freshness 


142  MAECUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

and  vigour  of  eternal  spring.  It  was  impossible  to  believe 
those  fields  of  living,  dazzling  green  would  ere  long  be  covered 
with  a  cold,  white  winding-sheet  of  snow ;  those  blue,  bright- 
flowing  waters  bound  with  fetters  of  ice,  and  hard  and  unyield 
ing  as  flint.  But  it  was  even  so ;  and  notwithstanding  the 
bleakness  of  the  scenery  and  the  intense  cold  of  the  atmo 
sphere,  our  young  southerners  enjoyed,  with  a  keen  zest,  the 
exhilarating  pleasures  of  a  northern  winter.  Perhaps  a  few 
extracts  from  their  letters  to  their  southern  friends  would 
give  their  impressions  in  a  more  vivid  manner  than  any  nar 
rative  could  do. 

"  On  my  soul,  Florence,"  thus  wrote  Delaval  to  his  sister, 
in  the  midst  of  snow,  and  ice,  and  frost;  "  on  my  soul,  I  wish 
you  were  here.  This  is  the  very  region  for  one  of  your  free,  glad, 
brave  spirit.  I  thought  I  should  be  shrunk  into  the  dimen 
sions  of  a  cubic  inch,  congealed  into  an  impenetrable  cake  of 
ice;  but  never  did  I  feel  a  more  extended  sense  of  vitality,  a 
fuller  consciousness  of  jubilant  existence.  I  feel  as  if  I  could 
wrestle  with  the  snow-spirit,  and  mock  its  merriest  gambols. 
If  you  only  knew  the  rapture  of  a  moonlight  sleigh-ride  !  Last 
night  Marcus  and  myself  joined  a  party,  that  went  out  about 
seven  or  eight  miles  from  here,  to  a  dance.  We  were  all  in 
double  sleighs,  six  in  each,  pretty  closely  packed  together  in 
buffalo  skins ;  and  if  you  had  seen  the  bright-eyed,  rosy- 
cheeked  maiden  who  sat  next  to  Marcus,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
one  at  my  right  hand,  I  fear  a  pang  of  jealousy  would  have 
shot  through  your  bosom.  I  tell  you,  bright  heiress  of  Wood 
Lawn,  the  stars  themselves  don't  shine  more  brilliantly,  or 
wink  more  mischievously,  than  the  eyes  of  these  northern  dam 
sels  during  these  moonlight  rides  through  drifting  snow,  and 
the  music  of  the  bells  that  ring  multitudinously  on  the  necks 
of  the  spirited  horses  is  not  more  inspiring  than  their  joyous 
merriment.  If  it  were  not  for  a  certain  pair  of  down-drop 
ping,  silk-shaded,  love-diffusing,  violet  eyes  at  the  South,  that 
have  irretrievably  stolen  away  my  heart,  I  should  certainly  be 
captivated  by  some  of  these  high-spirited,  whole-souled,  warm- 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  143 

hearted  daughters  of  New  England.  I  see  winter  here  is  the 
season  of  hilarity  and  amusement.  There  has  been  a  constant 
succession  of  parties  lately,  mostly,  I  believe,  in  honour  of  your 
humble  servants.  Warland  is  the  lion  of  the  season.  That 
extraordinary  attraction  he  carries  about  him,  that  captivated 
at  one  glance  a  certain  little  wild,  dark  girl  of  my  acquaintance, 
that  riveted  me,  when  I  first  beheld  him  on  the  recitation 
bench,  dismal  place  as  it  was,  draws  magnetically  toward  him 
man,  woman,  and  child.  I  find  my  lesser  lustre  completely 
merged  in  his  superior  brightness.  I  will  give  you  an  in 
stance.  The  other  night  we  attended  a  gathering  at  the  hos 
pitable  mansion  of  Judge  Carlton.  I  shall  never  more  prate 
of  hospitality  as  if  it  were  the  peculiar,  the  exclusive  grace  of 
the  South.  Never  have  I  seen  it  more  cordially,  nobly  exer 
cised,  than  in  this  land  of  snow.  Perhaps  you  will  say  they 
think  we  are  the  sons  of  rich  southern  nabobs,  and  court  our 
wealth  and  alliance.  No  such  thing.  There  is  less  of  the 
aristocracy  of  wealth  here  than  at  any  place  I  ever  saw.  The 
only  sovereignty  admitted  is  that  of  mind.  And  Judge  Cleve 
land  really  reigns  on  a  throne,  whose  foundations  are  ever 
lasting  as  the  hills, — yea,  far  more  so ;  for  the  perpetual  hills 
will  bow,  and  the  elements  melt  with  fervent  heat;  but  the 
mind  of  man  shares  the  eternity  of  the  Being  from  whom  it 
emanates.  That  they  should  make  an  excitement  about  War- 
land  is  not  surprising ;  but  for  me,  if  I  were  made  of  gold  and 
studded  with  diamonds,  they  could  not  cherish  me  more  kind 
ly.  But  in  his  presence,  as  I  said  before,  my  fine  gold  is  all 
dim.  I  have  lost  the  thread  of  my  story.  The  other  night 
at  Judge  Carlton' s,  when  we  entered  the  room,  the  walls  were 
all  lined  with  living  blossoms,  blooming  as  gayly  as  if  it  were 
all  summer  abroad.  We  sought  the  lady  of  the  house,  to  pay 
our  respects,  as  in  duty  bound  we  ought.  Of  course,  the  eyes  of 
the  lady  were  fixed  on  the  splendid  face  and  form  of  Warland, 
and  beheld  only  his  graceful  bow,  though  I  am  sure  I  put  my 
best  foot  foremost  on  the  occasion.  After  a  while  she  asked 
Warland,  in  a  very  sweet  voice,  'How  is  your  friend  Mr 


144  MARCUS   WARLANDJ    OR, 

Delaval  ?  I  hope  he  is  not  indisposed,  that  he  did  not  accom 
pany  you' — and  there  I  was,  right  at  his  elbow,  looking 
steadily  at  her  with  my  big  black  eyes.  I  was  but  a  mote  in 
the  sunbeams — a  little,  twinkling  planet,  lost  in  the  effulgence 
of  day.  When  we  moved  round  among  the  living  blossoms, 
the  sweet  wall-flowers,  that  fluttered,  as  we  approached,  like 
roses  at  the  coming  of  the  zephyrs,  it  was  to  him  the  fair  heads 
inclined,  toward  him  the  ringlets  bowed.  Perhaps  here  and 
there  some  very  polite  damsel  would  inquire,  '  Why  Mr.  Dela 
val  did  not  come  ?'  while  I  was  looking  at  her  unutterable 
things.  To  tell  the  truth,  so  dearly  do  I  love  him,  so  ardently 
do  I  admire  him,  and  so  truly  do  I  honour  him,  that  I  should 
think  meanly  of  her  or  him,  who  did  not  forget  me  in  his 
presence,  unless  it  might  be  a  sister  of  his,  perchance.  I  would 
be  willing  to  make  her  an  exception. 

"  You  ought  to  hear  him  when  defending  the  rights  of  the 
South.  You  must  not  think,  because  I  speak  of  moonlight 
rides  and  gay  soirdes,  that  we  court  amusement  at  the  expense 
of  study.  We  are  the  hardest  students  in  the  institution.  I 
am  obliged  to  study  harder  than  Warland.  He  seems  to  take 
in  every  thing,  no  matter  how  difficult  or  abstruse  it  may  be, 
by  a  kind  of  intuition.  Instead  of  being  obliged  to  toil  up 
the  rugged  steeps  of  knowledge  step  by  step,  he  really  has 
found  a  royal  way.  His  spirit  is  plumed  with  the  pinions  of 
the  eagle,  and  bears  him  up  toward  the  goal  for  which  we  are 
panting  below. 

"About  a  week  ago  Judge  Cleveland  gave  a  dinner  to  his  stu 
dents,  and  invited  the  principal  gentlemen  of  the  place  to  meet 
us.  When  Mrs.  Cleveland,  who  presided  with  true  southern 
grace  and  hospitality,  had  retired,  the  conversation  gradually  as 
sumed  a  political  turn.  There  was  one  gentleman  present  whose 
prejudices  against  the  South  are  very  bitter,  and  for  whose  opi 
nions  I  have  very  little  respect.  Yet  he  has  reputed  intellect,  and 
a  high  standing  in  society.  I  saw  him  in  earnest  conversation 
with  Marcus.  One  by  one,  those  who  were  conversing  with 
others  left  their  companions  and  drew  near  the  cynosure.  I 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  145 

was  anxious  to  become  a  listener  myself,  for  I  saw  that  he  was 
excited  by  the  dark  spot  in  his  eyes  and  the  slight  quiver  of 
his  lips,  a  peculiarity  of  his  which  gives  great  depth  of  expres 
sion  to  his  countenance  when  speaking.  I  know  not  what  had 
been  previously  said,  but  the  first  words  I  caught  were  these, 
evidently  in  answer  to  something  advanced  by  his  antagonist : 

"  'I  do  not  pretend  to  justify  those  who  first  rolled  this  sha 
dow  on  our  land.  My  conscience  would  not  permit  me  to  do 
it.  The  evil  as  it  now  exists  is  too  widely  extended,  too  deeply 
rooted,  to  admit  of  the  remedy  you  propose.  You  may  eradi 
cate  the  weeds  from  your  garden,  the  tares  from  your  wheat, 
but  this  is  like  the  fibrous  grass,  so  interwoven  into  the  soil  it 
binds  together  that  you  cannot  tear  it  up,  without  destroying 
the  earth  where  it  grows.' 

"'Better  let  it  be  destroyed  at  once/  said  his  opponent, 
'  than  have  it  kept  together  by  such  an  unholy  cement.' 

" '  Time,  the  great  rectifier  of  all  human  ills,'  replied  Marcus, 
with  graceful  gravity,  '  can  alone  accomplish  the  work.  Every 
rash  and  hasty  effort  will  Only  make  the  operation  more  diffi 
cult  and  protracted.  He  who  is  actuated  by  philanthropy  and 
a  sincere  desire  to  ameliorate  the  condition  of  slaves,  will  only 
deprive  them  of  the  blessings  they  already  enjoy,  and  retard 
the  period  of  their  emancipation.  Should  a  servile  war  be  the 
consequence,  their  ruin  would  be  inevitable,  as  well  as  the  de 
struction  of  thousands  of  lovely  and  innocent  beings,  whose 
claims  to  humanity  seem  forgotten  in  a  wild  and  burning  zeal.' 

"  '  Those  who  live  on  the  edge  of  a  crater,'  replied  the  gen 
tleman,  '  must  expect  to  be  destroyed  by  the  volcanic  power 
that  ejects  the  boiling  lava.  But  such  a  state  of  existence 
would  not  be  life  to  me.  It  would  be  living  death.  I  could 
neither  eat  nor  sleep  with  the  groans  of  these  unhappy  creatures 
ringing  in  my  ears ;  with  their  tears  moistening  the  bread  their 
shackled  hands  were  preparing  for  my  lips.  I  should  expect 
every  mouthful  would  choke  me.  I  should  expect  my  dreams 
would  be  haunted  by  the  spectres  of  accusing  conscience.' 

"  '  I  am  very  young,'  said  Warland,  looking  earnestly  at  the 
61 


146  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

group  now  gathered  around  him,  'and  my  words  may  have  less 
weight  on  that  account;  but,  nevertheless,  I  hope  their  truth 
will  be  their  passport.  Young  as  I  am,  I  have  been  on  many 
broad  plantations,  and  witnessed  the  discipline  of  hundreds  and 
hundreds  of  slaves.  I  have  seen  them  in  the  household,  I  have 
seen  them  in  the  field,  and  seldom  while  engaged  in  their  labours 
have  I  heard  one  groan  of  anguish,  or  witnessed  one  tear  of  sor 
row.  They  sing  and  jest  over  their  tasks,  and  wear  far  happier 
and  more  smiling  faces  than  the  hired  servants  employed  to  per 
form  your  daily  work.  They  are  not  taxed  beyond  their  strength 
and  endurance.  Self-interest  alone,  if  no  higher,  better  motive, 
would  induce  the  planter  to  husband  the  strength  that  is  to  till 
his  soil  and  gather  in  its  wealth.  That  there  are  instances  where 
the  master  abuses  his  power,  and  the  African  feels  the  heavy 
weight  of  bondage,  I  do  not  doubt ;  for  where  is  the  social  or 
political  institution  which  tyranny  has  not  abused  and  power 
perverted  ?  The  taskmaster  of  your  factories  often  oppresses 
the  pale  operative  that  toils  over  the  loom,  and  the  master  of 
a  household  sometimes  rules  with  an  iron  rod.  I  only  contend 
for  the  general  law  of  kindness  and  humanity/ 

"  '  Still,  you  must  acknowledge/  continued  the  gentleman, 
'that  the  only  bond  existing  between  the  enslaver  and  the 
slave  must  be  exerted  power  on  one  side  and  enforced  obedi 
ence  on  the  other.' 

" '  No,  sir/  exclaimed  Warland,  with  a  heightening  colour, 
and  his  fine  voice  swelling  like  a  rich,  deep-toned  instrument. 
'  I  acknowledge  no  such  thing.  There  is  the  bond  of  affec 
tion,  of  gratitude,  tenderness,  and  esteem.  The  dark  back 
ground  of  slavery  exhibits  some  of  the  most  beautiful  and 
touching  traits  of  the  southern  character,  and  into  that  dark 
ground  itself  are  wrought  some  of  the  brightest  and  softest 
colours  that  adorn  the  landscape  of  life.  Allow  me  to  speak 
of  my  own  experience.  In  very  early  years,  myself  and  in 
fant  sister  were  deprived  of  a  mother's  care,  and  peculiar  cir 
cumstances  threw  us  on  the  kindness  and  fidelity  of  a  negro 
nurse.  With  all  a  mother's  self-sacrificing  tenderness  she 


THE  LONG  MOSS   SPRING.  147 

watched  over  and  cherished  us,  and  with  true  filial  and  devoted 
love  have  we  repaid  her  maternal  cares.  The  fair  hands  of 
my  adopted  mother,  the  mistress  of  more  than  a  hundred 
slaves,  are  now  scarred  by  the  flames,  into  which  she  plunged 
them  to  save  the  life  of  a  poor  mulatto  girl  whom  she  tenderly 
loved.' 

"  '  This  is  indeed  a  very  uncommon  instance,'  said  the  gen 
tleman,  '  but  there  are  some  noble,  self-sacrificing  beings  who 
redeem  the  selfishness  of  a  whole  generation.  There  are  some 
even  in  Sardis  who  have  not  defiled  their  garments/ 

"  '  This  is  not  a  solitary  example.  I  could  tell  of  many  more,' 
cried  my  friend,  '  but  I  fear  I  am  engrossing  the  conversation, 
and  transgressing  the  limits  of  youthful  modesty/ 

"I  wish,  Florence,  you  could  have  seen  the  graceful  blush 
that  mantled  over  the  face  of  the  young  champion  of  our  insti 
tutions,  as  he  looked  on  the  eager  listeners  who  were  gathering 
close  round  the  charmed  ring. 

" ( No,  no/  exclaimed  several  voices,  e  pray  go  on,  we  are 
deeply  interested  in  hearing.  Give  us  facts,  they  are  more 
convincing  than  rhetoric/ 

" '  On  the  river  whose  rapid  current  made  the  music  of  my 
boyhood/  continued  Warland,  '  there  was  a  burning  boat. 
Among  those  who  were  exposed  to  a  fiery  death  there  was  only 
one  lady,  accompanied  by  a  negro  girl.  The  pilot,  who  chanced 
to  be  a  negro,  with  a  chivalry  that  would  have  done  honour  to 
a  white  man,  rushed  to  the  lady,  and  told  her  if  she  would  suffer 
him  to  fasten  a  rope  round  her  body,  and  attach  it  also  to  his 
own,  he  could  save  her  life.  "And  my  girl  too,"  cried  she, 
turning  to  the  poor  negro,  who  was  clinging  to  her  side.  "  I 
sorry,  mistress,  I  cannot  take  but  one."  "  Then  I  die  with  her," 
gaid  the  heroic  woman.  "I  cannot  leave  her  to  perish.  Save 
yourself.  I  ask  not  life  on  such  terms."  The  African,  more 
anxious  than  ever  to  rescue  one  so  disinterested  and  humane, 
made  superhuman  exertions,  and  bore  them  both  in  safety 
through  the  roaring  flames  and  the  whelming  waves.  This  is 
Duly  one  of  a  thousand  instances  that  might  be  brought  for- 


148  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

•ward  to  prove  the  strong  affection  existing  between  those  whom 
the  Almighty  has  distinguished  by  the  midnight  hue  and  the 
tints  of  morning.  Delaval,  why  are  you  silent  ?  You  might 
speak  volumes,  for  you  have  myriads  under  your  own  sway.' 

"  What  could  I  say  to  add  any  force  to  his  eloquent  relation 
of  facts  ?  Yet,  thus  called  upon,  I  could  not  help  stepping 
forward  to  join  in  the  disputation.  Judge  Cleveland,  I  ob 
served,  had  listened  with  intense  interest  to  this  conversation, 
and  his  large,  gray  eyes  grew  luminous  as  Warland  spoke. 

" '  I  cannot  speak  of  myself/  said  I,  with  becoming  modesty, 
'as  I  have  not  taken  the  reins  in  my  own  hands,  but  I  cer 
tainly  have  the  best  intentions  to  carry  out  my  father's  bene 
volent  discipline.  When  he  was  on  his  death-bed,  one  of  his 
latest,  most  solemn  injunctions  to  me  was,  to  be  kind  to  the 
slaves  he  committed  to  my  care.  "Remember,  my  son,"  he 
cried,  with  deep  solemnity,  "  that  you  must  give  an  account  of 
your  stewardship,  as  I  am  about  to  render  mine;  and  I  can  say, 
in  the  prospect  of  death  and  eternity,  that  I  have  never  volun 
tarily  caused  a  tear  to  flow."  My  uncle,  who  is  now  delegated 
with  the  authority  that  will  soon  be  mine,  is  a  just  man, 
(though  my  friend  here  will  tell  you  a  most  sovereign  aristo 
crat,)  and  I  most  certainly,  in  all  honesty  and  sincerity,  intend 
to  obey  the  injunctions  of  my  lamented  father.  I  wish  you 
would  visit  us,  sir,  after  my  return  to  the  South,  and  if  I  do 
not  prove  a  second  Nero  or  Henry  the  Eighth,  who,  though 
very  promising  youths,  became  the  most  horrible  tyrants,  I 
will  show  you  a  collection  of  smiling,  black  faces,  that  will 
have  more  eloquence  than  a  hundred  tongues  like  mine.' 

"'Thank  you/  said  the  gentleman.  'I  should  like  very 
much  to  witness  such  a  state  of  things  as  you  describe.  But 
if  they  are  really  happy,  why  do  we  see  so  many  fugitives  try 
ing  to  escape  from  their  bonds?' 

" (  Why,  the  world  is  full  of  runaways  of  every  kind/  an 
swered  I.  (  There  is  many  a  truant  schoolboy  that  eludes 
his  task ;  many  a  recreant  from  the  authority  of  home ;  and 
many  a  young  miss  that  makes  a  moonlight  flitting.  But 


THE  LONG  MOSS   SPRING.  149 

there  are  innumerable  examples  of  those  who  have  resisted  the 
strongest  allurements  to  remain  in  a  land  of  freedom,  and  pre 
ferred  the  service  of  their  masters  to  being  aliens  in  a  strange 
home.' 

"  '  There  is  one  thing  I  would  like  to  hear  you  explain,  my 
young  friend/  continued  he,  turning  to  Warland,  who  had 
drawn  back  so  as  not  to  veil  my  dawning  brightness.  '  You 
observed  these  bondmen  exhibited  more  cheerfulness  than  those 
whom  we  employ  to  fill  subordinate  stations  in  our  household, 
though  they  toil  for  others  without  hope  of  remuneration.  I 
should  like  to  hear  you  explain  the  principle  that  animates  them.' 

"'Your  servants,  as  far  as  I  understand/  cried  Warland, 
'are  ever  changing,  seldom  remaining  long  in.  the  service  of 
the  same  family.  The  prospect  of  higher  wages  will  induce 
them  to  leave  the  kindest  and  best  of  friends.  There  is  seldom 
time  given  for  the  formation  of  binding  attachments.  While 
the  negro,  who  is  born  in  the  household  of  his  master,  and 
brought  up  with  his  children,  feels  identified  with  its  interests 
by  all  those  powerful  associations  which  are  twined  round  the 
heart  in  the  morning  of  life.  It  is  true  he  toils  for  his  master, 
but  he  is  fed,  and  clothed,  and  sheltered,  without  care  or  fore 
thought  of  his  own.  In  sickness  he  is  nursed;  in  old  age 
protected;  free  from  those  anxious  misgivings  for  the  future, 
which  oppress  the  hearts  of  their  owners.  Oh !  believe  me, 
sir,  we  are  strangely  misunderstood.  I  would  not  for  the 
sovereignty  of  worlds  attempt  to  remove  your  prejudices  by  the 
sacrifice  of  truth;  but  when  it  inspires  and  sustains  me  in  all  I 
utter,  I  could  go  on  and  speak  volumes  on  the  subject,  if  the 
memory  of  my  youth  and  position  did  not  warn  me  to  forbear/ 

"The  angel  ended — and  in  every  ear  «^ 

So  charming  left  his  voice,  that  we  awhile 
Thought  him  still  speaking,  still  stood  fix'd  to  hear. 

"  Now,  my  own  dear  Florence,  if  you  do  not  feel  proud  of 
your  friend  and  mine,  you  are  not  the  girl  I  think  you  are.  I 
think  I  see  you  while  you  are  reading  this  scene.  I  see  the 
brilliant  coruscations  of  your  aurora-borealian  countenance, 


150  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

I  longed  to  tell  them  of  your  devotion  to  Mammy,  as  you  still 
call  her,  when  she  was  sick ;  how  you  sat  up  night  after 
night,  in  spite  of  warning  and  remonstrance,  bathing  her  fever 
ish  head,  and  administering  to  the  comfort  of  one  who  had  so 
often  nursed  and  watched  over  your  wayward  infancy.  I  longed 
to  tell  them  what  delight  you  take  in  petting  and  dressing 
your  little  live  ebony  dolls;  and  how  idolized  you  are  by  every 
soul  on  the  plantation.  I  wanted  to  describe  you  flying  from 
cabin  to  cabin,  scattering  light  and  joy  as  you  fly,  and  wel 
comed  as  a  ministrant  from  heaven,  wilful  child  of  earth  though 
you  be.  But  you  are  my  sister,  and  it  would  have  seemed  like 
glorifying  myself  to  proclaim  your  praises,  and  I  knew  you 
would  curl  your  saucy  lip  if  I  dared  even  to  mention  your 
august  name  in  the  presence  of  strangers. 

"  By  the  shade  of  Cicero,  what  a  letter  I've  written,  to  go 
in  company  with  one,  too,  for  which  mine  will  be  long  forgot 
ten.  No,  I  will  recall  that;  I  know  you  love  me  too  well  not 
to  be  willing  to  read  all  and  more  than  I  can  write.  Fare 
well,  formosissima  carissima." 

We  would  like  to  transcribe  some  of  the  letters  of  Marcus, 
but  Florence  kept  them  under  lock  and  key,  in  a  beautiful 
rosewood  cabinet,  and  allowed  no  one  to  peruse  them.  Hers 
were  as  jealously  secluded  from  the  curious  eye,  and  though 
not  bearing  the  signature  of  Lightning,  were  written  on  the 
same  delicate  tissue,  and  breathing  the  same  delicious  perfume. 

Marcus  had  not  forgotten  to  vindicate  Delaval,  in  his  letters 
to  Katy,  from  the  aspersions  he  had  cast  upon  him,  and  it  is 
possible  Delaval  enclosed  some  missive  of  his  own  in  the 
brother's  epistles,  for  they  were  generally  quite  imposing-look 
ing  packets ;  not  only  those  which  were  sent,  but  those  which 
were  received  in  return.  We  would  like  to  present  this  cor 
respondence  to  the  reader,  especially  that  part  which  describes 
the  glorious  awakening  of  Nature  from  her  wintry  lethargy, 
the  escape  of  the  glad  river  from  bondage,  when  in  all  the  joy 
of  emancipation  it  broke  asunder  its  icy  fetters,  and  dashed 
them  a  glittering  wreck  upon  its  bosom ;  tbe  carnation  of  the 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  151 

niduntains  when  they  resumed  the  regalia  of  spring,  and  the 
valley,  clothed  like  a  bride,  in  a  silver  drapery  of  mist,  lay 
smiling  and  bashful  at  their  feet. 

Yes,  grand  and  magnificent  is  the  return  of  spring  in  the 
northern  latitudes.  It  comes  like  a  conqueror  bearing  the 
trophies  of  victory,  its  path  strewed  with  roses,  and  its  brow 
crowned  with  garlands  of  green.  A  voice,  as  of  many  waters, 
heralds  its  approach,  and  winter,  bound  in  flowery  chains,  fol 
lows  its  triumphal  car. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"  Look,  look,  red  as  blood  , 

All  on  high ! 
It  is  not  the  daylight  that  fills  with  its  flood 

The  sky ! 
What  a  clamour  awaking 

Roars  up  through  the  street, 
What  a  hell-vapour  breaking, 

Rolls  on  through  the  street, 
And  higher  and  higher 
Aloft  moves  the  column  of  fire !" — SCHILLER. 

IT  is  said,  that  a  course  of  uninterrupted  prosperity  hardens 
the  heart  of  man,  and  makes  him  forgetful  of  the  Giver  of 
every  good  and  perfect  gift ;  that  he  buildeth  fine  palaces  and 
lordly  barns,  and  saith,  with  haughty  self-elation,  "  Soul, 
make  merry  with  thy  goods,  and  enjoy  without  fear  the  long 
banquet  of  life."  It  is  not  always  so.  Mr.  Bellamy's  heart 
was  not  the  clay  that  bakes  and  indurates  in  the  sunshine,  in 
which  no  seed  will  germinate,  no  vegetation  take  root.  It  was 
a  sunny  slope  that  produced  the  richest  fruit  and  verdure,  be 
cause  the  beams  shed  warmth  on  its  surface,  and  it  radiated 
them  back  to  the  atmosphere.  The  more  prosperous  he  was, 
the  more  grateful  was  he  to  God,  the  more  benevolent  to  his 
fellow-man. 

Marcus  had  been  absent  more  than  a  year.  An  unusually 
abundant  season  had  crowned  the  hopes  of  the  planter,  and  the 
cotton-bolls,  opened  by  a  fervid  sun,  were  gathered  without 
being  exposed  to  any  of  those  autumnal  rains  which  so  often 


152  MAKCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

destroy  the  harvest-bloom.  Indeed,  it  had  been  singularly  dry, 
and  now  that  the  earth  had  given  in  its  increase,  nothing  would 
have  been  considered  a  greater  blessing  than  a  shower  to  sprinkle 
the  dusty  shrubbery  and  the  thirsty  earth.  The  moon  shone 
\^th  a  crimson  hue  through  the  dry  and  powdery  atmosphere, 
and  Aunt  Milly  said  it  was  a  certain  sign  that  something  was 
going  to  happen,  when  it  had  that  bloody  colour.  She  did  hope 
it  was  not  to  Master  Marcus.  The  family  sat  in  the  piazza, 
and  Katy,  as  she  watched  the  blood-red  orb  slowly  rolling  up 
above  the  skirts  of  the  woods,  wondered  if  a  pair  of  deep-black 
eyes,  distant  from  her  own,  were  gazing  on  its  disk,  and  if 
their  master  were  thinking  of  her.  Mrs.  Bellamy  leaned  back 
in  the  chair  in  serene  silence,  while  Mr.  Bellamy  and  Warland 
sat  and  talked  on  themes  of  mutual  interest.  The  strains  of 
Hannibal's  violin  were  heard  in  the  back  yard,  and  some  little 
nimble-footed  negroes  were  jumping  Georgia  motion,  and  mak 
ing  the  dust  fly  like  ashes  over  their  heads.  Several  old  ne 
groes  were  sitting  round  the  doors  of  their  cabins,  smoking 
their  pipes  and  shaking  their  heads  knowingly  at  each  other  at 
some  sage  remark  wafted  to  their  ears. 

"I  know  not  why  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Bellamy,  "but  I  some 
times  feel  sad  from  the  very  excess  of  my  contentment.  I  feel 
the  impossibility  of  such  a  state  of  things  always  lasting.  I 
have  been  so  blessed,  so  favoured  by  Providence,  that  dark 
days  must  be  in  store  for  me,  for  I  cannot  expect  to  be  exempt 
from  the  common  lot.  About  the  time  I  first  visited  your 
cabin,  Mrs.  Bellamy  was  in  delicate  health,  and  I  felt  anxious 
on  her  account.  That  cloud  passed  away,  and  left  the  horizon 
clear.  Ever  since  then  I  have  prospered.  I  believe  your  com 
ing  among  us,  Warland,  you  and  your  children,  brought  a  bless 
ing  on  the  household.  You  have  been  an  able  coadjutor,  a 
wise  and  faithful  friend.  I  wonder  now  how  I  ever  got  along 
without  you/7 

"  I  am  sure  /  found  the  blessing  here,"  replied  "Warland, 
•with  grateful  emotion.  "  This  has  been  the  gate  of  heaven  to 
me.  The  events  of  that  night,  which  brought  you  under  my 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  153 

roof,  were  arranged  by  Infinite  "Wisdom  and  Infinite  Mercy  too. 
When  I  think  what  I  then  was,  and  what  I  now  am ;  when  I 
remember  what  you  have  done  for  my  children, — my  sweet 
Katy,  my  noble  Marcus, — my  heart  swells ;  I  find  no  room 
for  words." 

"  Speak  not  of  what  I  have  done.  I  have  been  repaid  a 
thousand-fold  already.  "What  we  do  for  ourselves  is  like  water 
spilled  upon  the  sand ;  what  we  do  for  others  like  the  dew  on 
the  grassy  plain.  I  know,  when  I  come  to  my  dying  hour, 
the  memory  of  what  I  have  been  enabled  to  do,  to  promote  the 
happiness  of  my  fellow-beings,  will  linger  when  all  selfish  en 
joyments  have  passed  away.  I  have  never  met  with  one  in 
stance  of  treachery  or  ingratitude  in  man.  I  have  never 
suffered  from  those  destroying  elements  which  have  often, 
laid  waste  the  hopes  of  others.  Fire  has  never  consumed  my 
buildings,  nor  floods  deluged  my  lands.  Pestilence  has  never 
swept  off  my  negroes,  nor  mutiny  stolen  into  their  ranks.  God 
has  certainly  been  very  gracious  to  me.  I  feel  oppressed  by 
the  weight  of  his  unmerited  goodness." 

Mr.  Bellamy  paused  and  raised  his  eyes  above,  with  reve 
rential  devotion,  seeing  in  the  moon,  now  rising  higher  and 
higher  above  the  dust  of  earth,  her  crimson  radiance  melt 
ing  into  gold,  an  image  of  that  divine  love  whose  influence 
he  so  deeply  flelt.  We  dwell  on  this  evening's  tranquil  scenes, 
because  so  terrible  a  contrast  was  about  to  be  presented.  Katy, 
unable  to  resist  the  attraction  of  Hannibal's  violin,  ran  into 
the  back  yard,  where  the  Georgia  motion  was  still  kept  up 
with  unwearied  vivacity.  Katy  did  not  join  the  performers, 
but  she  danced  round  Hannibal,  who  sat  under  a  China  tree, 
with  the  moon  glimmering  through  the  boughs  on  his  shining, 
coal-black  face,  which  was  now  bent  obliquely  over  his  in 
strument,  then  raised  enthusiastically  and  thrown  back  in  a 
horizontal  direction.  He  always  seemed  inspired  when  play 
ing,  and  nothing  delighted  him  so  much  as  to  see  the  nymph- 
like  figure  of  Katy  floating  with  gossamer  grace  on  his  even 
ing  serenades.  He  always  said  she  danced  just  like  Cora,  and 


154  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

"she  looked  sorter  like  her  too,  only  if  she  had  black  eyes  in 
stead  of  blue,  and  black  hair  instead  of  brown,  and  had  a 
leeile  darker  skin,  the  likeness  would  be  more  complete." 

Katy  was  the  darling  of  all  the  negroes,  from  the  Carthagi 
nian  General  down  to  the  smallest  child  that  rolled  under  the 
hickory's  shade.  This  night  she  seemed  animated  with  un 
wonted  hilarity,  for  her  mood  was  usually  quiet  and  serene. 
She  danced  from  cabin  to  cabin,  regardless  of  the  dust  that 
sprinkled  her  white  muslin  robes ;  and  picturesque  did  those 
white  cabins  look,  in  the  mellow  lustre  that  now  bathed  them. 
The  whitewashed  walls,  in  the  illusion  of  moonlight,  had  the 
smoothness  and  richness  of  marble ;  and  the  dark  figures 
grouped  about  their  steps  might  have  passed  for  antique 
statues  of  bronze,  or  monuments  of  Egyptian  art. 

"  What  make  Miss  Katy  so  gay  this  night  ?"  said  Aunt 
Milly,  who  had  some  religious  scruples  against  dancing.  "She 
piert  as  a  kitten.  Somehow  or  other  I  think  something  going 
to  happen.  Looking-glass  broke  up  in  mistress's  room  to-day, 
nobody  know  how.  ;Twas  a  sperrit,  sure  enough,  and  a  warn 
ing.  If  we  had  an  intarpreter  like  Nabunezzar,  who  told  about 
the  hand  that  figured  on  the  wall,  we'd  know  what  it  do  mean." 

"  Suflicient  to  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof,  Aunt  Milly," 
cried  Katy,  waltzing  round  her  tall  turban.  "  I  suspect  the 
spirit  had  a  dusting-brush  in  its  hand,  and  was  looking  at 
itself  too  hard,  when  the  glass  shivered.  But  hark  !  there's  a 
breeze  rustling  among  the  leaves,  and  there  is  a  cloud  floating 
below  the  moon.  We  will  surely  have  rain  to-morrow." 

The  breeze  which  blew  from  the  north  raised  such  a  cloud 
of  dust  that  Katy  was  glad  to  escape  into  the  shelter  of  the 
house,  and  when  the  family  retired  to  their  slumbers,  they 
looked  forward  to  a  renovating  shower.  No  one  but  Aunt 
Milly  had  a  presentiment  of  evil,  though  it  was  brooding  darkly 
and  luridly  over  the  fated  mansion.  All  slept  deeply,  securely, 
lulled  by  the  murmurs  of  the  rising  wind.  But  the  deep  sleep 
of  Mr.  Bellamy  began  to  change  to  an  uneasy  slumber.  He 
dreamed  that  he  was  in  a  trackless  wilderness,  in  the  midst  of 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  155 

midnight  darkness,  and  that  a  heavy,  roaring  sound,  as  of 
wild  beasts  in  the  heart  of  that  wilderness,  weighed  upon  his 
ears,  when  the  darkness  was  suddenly  illuminated  by  a  thou 
sand  blazing  eyes,  gleaming  through  the  shadows,  making  a 
living  and  terrible  conflagration.  With  a  convulsive  start,  he 
shook  off  the  nightmare  under  which  he  was  gasping,  and 
sprang  up.  He  was  awake  ;  but  the  same  dull,  roaring  sound 
was  in  his  ears.  He  was  awake ;  but  the  blazing  eyes  were 
glaring  through  the  window,  blazing  tongues  were  curling  and 
hissing  abroad;  and  mingling  with  the  roar  were  the  cries, 
shouts,  and  shrieks  of  suddenly-awakened  voices,  while  one 
loud  as  a  trumpet  and  deep  as  a  drum  pealed  high  above  the  rest, 
"  Master — master — fire  ! — fire  ! — wake  up,  master — wake" — 

Mrs.  Bellamy  started  from  the  bed  with  a  scream  of  horror. 
The  voice  of  Hannibal  seemed  rolling  and  echoing  all  round 
the  room. 

"  Isabel !  Isabel  I"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bellamy,  who  had  thrown 
his  dressing-gown  round  him,  and  rushed  toward  the  windows 
to  ascertain  the  extent  of  the  calamity.  "  The  flames  are  upon 
us  !  My  God  !  how  shall  I  save  you  ?  The  staircase,  it  must 
be  on  fire !" 

Seizing  her  hand  and  throwing  one  arm  round  her,  for  she 
was  paralyzed  with  terror,  he  opened  the  door  that  led  toward 
the  stairs,  when  the  hot,  scorching  air  drove  him  backward. 
The  flames  that  were  roaring  below  came  rushing  and  leaping 
upward,  licking  the  banisters  with  their  long  red  tongues,  then 
darting  them  forward  like  fiery  serpents,  whose  huge  convolu 
tions  were  rolling  and  doubling  behind.  The  floor  quaked  be 
neath  their  feet,  the  glass  shook,  the  walls  vibrated.  Mrs.  Bel 
lamy  fell  heavily  on  the  arm  of  her  husband.  She  had  fainted. 

"  God  of  mercy !"  gasped  Mr.  Bellamy,  dragging  her  to 
ward  the  open  window,  where  the  flames  glared  luridly  on  her 
pallid  face ;  "  I  can't  save  her.  She's  lost.  We  are  l/oth  lost. 
Poor  Isabel !"  Then  with  a  sudden  energy  he  lifted  his  voice, 
crying  out,  "A  ladder  !  for  the  love  of  God,  a  ladder  I" 

Before  the  words  had  left  his  lips,  a  heavy  sound,  as  of  a 


156  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

falling  body  against  the  wall,  was  followed  by  an  apparition, 
that,  seen  at  the  open  window,  on  the  background  of  fire,  so 
tall,  so  black,  so  powerful,  with  blazing  eyes  and  gleaming 
teeth,  it  looked  like  an  archangel  of  darkness,  coming  on 
pinions  of  flame.  "  Mistress  !  mistress  I"  it  exclaimed ;  "  Han 
nibal  come  to  save  mistress,  or  die  too." 

The  faithful  slave  beheld  the  death-like  face  of  his  mistress 
drooping  back  from  the  arm  of  his  master,  and  springing  in 
through  the  window,  he  caught  her,  like  an  infant,  in  his  strong 
arms,  and  disappeared,  shouting,  "  Come  along,  master  j  come 
'long,  'fore  he  burn  up." 

Mr.  Bellamy  looked  out,  and  beheld  Hannibal  leaping  from 
round  to  round,  of  the  ladder  he  had  placed  against  the  wall, 
the  white  night-dress  of  his  mistress  waving  and  fluttering 
against  his  black  figure,  the  flames  reflecting  on  both  a  super 
natural  glare.  How  he  followed  he  knew  not,  but  he  reached 
the  ground  just  as  the  ladder,  that  had  tottered  at  every  step, 
slipped  and  fell,  and  he  found  himself  in  the  grasp  of  Warland, 
who  was  calling  in  frantic  accents  for  his  daughter.  Katy 
slept  in  a  room  back  of  Mrs.  Bellamy's,  farther  removed  from 
the  fire ;  her  father  in  the  room  below.  In  his  agonizing  fears 
for  his  wife,  Mr.  Bellamy  had  forgotten  poor  Katy,  and  now 
he  repeated  her  name  in  accents  of  despair.  At  that  moment 
a  piercing  shriek  from  the  window  they  had  just  quitted  cut 
them  through  the  heart,  for  there  she  stood,  stretching  out  her 
arms,  and  they  could  see  the  hot  flames  behind,  ready  to  leap 
upon  her.  The  paralyzed  hands  of  the  father  tried  in  vain  to 
lift  the  heavy  ladder,  but  swift  as  lightning  Hannibal  sprang 
into  their  midst,  and  adding  his  mighty  strength,  lifted  it  as 
if  it  were  a  feather's  weight,  threw  it  against  the  wall,  and 
vaulting  upon  it,  was  instantaneously  on  the  topmost  round. 
Katy  threw  herself  into  his  arms  with  a  wild  appeal  to  the 
mercy  01  heaven.  Poor  Milly,  who  always  slept  in  the  same 
room  with  Katy,  but  who  had  remained  that  night  in  the  cabin 
of  Hannibal's  mother,  who  was  suffering  from  the  rheumatism, 
was  perfectly  frantic  during  her  darling's  danger.  She  rolled 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  157 

on  the  ground,  screaming,  and  biting  the  earth,  in  the  impo 
tence  of  despair.  The  negroes  were  rushing  to  and  fro,  doing 
all  they  could  to  save  their  master's  property  and  check  the 
progress  of  the  flames.  They  had  always  been  accustomed  to 
follow  the  leading  of  Hannibal,  and  that  he  should  have  the 
glorious  privilege  of  rescuing  his  mistress  and  Katy  from 
death,  seemed  as  natural  as  to  see  him  at  the  head  of  the  field, 
the  first  to  plant,  and  the  first  to  reap. 

"  Look  a  there,"  cried  the  black  angel  of  preservation,  point 
ing  to  the  window  above,  while  he  bore  Katy,  who  still  clung 
trembling  to  his  neck,  toward  the  spot  where  he  had  left  his 
mistress,  "  see  him  coming  ?  Run  away  back,  every  one  of 
you — way  off;  he  fall,  he  kill  you  dead  as  stone.  Master, 
come  away;  don't  you  see  him" 

The  fire  was,  indeed,  now  rolling  in  reddening  volumes 
through  every  window  of  the  house,  and  howling  tempestuously 
within.  The  northern  wall  of  the  building  began  to  rock,  and 
lean,  and  part,  and  then  fall  with  a  terrible  crash.  The  im 
prisoned  flames  leaped  up  to  the  very  heavens,  and  went  roar 
ing  above  the  old  hickories,  whose  scorched  and  blackened 
trunks  looked  like  gloomy  pillars  to  a  vast  dome  of  fire. 
Nothing  was  now  to  be  done  but  to  gaze  on  the  ruin,  so  aw 
fully  grand,  while  the  element  that  was  working  such  destruc 
tion  was  clothing  it  in  such  dread  magnificence.  The  cabins 
on  the  south  side  of  the  house  shared  in  the  conflagration ; 
those  on  the  north,  the  direction  from  which  the  wind  blew, 
escaped.  The  fire  had  evidently  commenced  in  the  northern 
wing  of  the  building,  and  had  gained  the  mastery  of  it  before 
it  was  discovered.  The  wings  were  of  wood,  not  brick,  like 
the  main  body  of  the  house,  and  being  dry  from  a  long  expo 
sure  to  unmitigated  sunshine,  kindled  like  a  light-wood  knot. 

Hannibal  had  selected  a  strange  place  to  bear  his  insensible 
mistress ;  but  he  believed,  if  the  flames  should  cover  every  inch 
of  Hickory  Hill  beside,  it  would  leave  untouched  and  unscathed 
the  grave  of  Cora.  He  believed  that  the  angels  guarded  it ; 
lie  had  seen  them  himself,  with  the  eye  of  superstition,  flit- 


158  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

ting  round  it,  and  spreading  out  their  white  wings  over  the  face 
of  the  monument,  with  a  soft,  rustling  sound.  It  might  have 
been  the  monument  itself,  that,  gleaming  white  in  the  moon 
light,  Hannibal  mistook  for  spreading  wings.  It  might  have 
been  the  sighing  of  the  willow-boughs,  and  the  long  grass  in  the 
night-breeze,  that  he  mistook  for  the  feathery  motion  of  an  an 
gelic  plume ;  but  his  own  belief  was  immovable  as  a  rock,  and 
when  he  laid  his  mistress  by  the  grave  of  the  poor  mulatto 
she  had  endeavoured  to  save' from  the  same  destroying  element 
from  which  he  had  just  rescued  her,  he  thought  no  harm  could 
reach  her  there.  Gently  laying  her  down,  so  that  her  head  rested 
on  the  green  mound,  he  ran  for  water  to  revive  her,  when  the 
shrieks  of  Katy  and  the  frantic  cries  of  her  father  again 
directed  him  to  the  burning  building.  A  negro  woman,  who 
was  hurrying  about  the  cabins,  like  a  distracted  creature, 
throwing  teacups  and  saucers  to  the  ground,  and  hugging  pil 
lows  carefully  in  her  arms,  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  white-robed, 
prostrate  figure  stretched  upon  the  grave,  and  screaming  out, 
"A  sperrit,  a  sperrit  I"  came  very  near  rushing  into  the  flames, 
to  escape  the  spectre  her  own  imagination  had  raised.  It  was 
her  wild  outcry,  and  the  horrified  glances  she  rolled  over  her 
shoulder  toward  the  spot,  that  led  Mr.  Bellamy  to  know  where 
his  wife  was  borne,  and  he  could  not  wonder  at  the  terrors  of 
the  superstitious  negro,  when  he  looked  upon  her  face,  as  cloud 
less  as  the  stone  near  which  she  rested,  and  her  long  loose 
wrapper  lying  around  her,  like  the  folds  of  a  winding-sheet. 
Raising  her  in  his  arms,  he  was  bearing  her  from  the  melan 
choly  spot,  when  he  met  Hannibal  with  the  rescued  Katy, 
whom  he  was  bringing  also  under  the  outspread  wings  of  Cora's 
guardian  angels. 

"No,  master — please,  master,  don't  take  mistress  'way;  no 
fire  come  here  ;  no  nothing  to  hurt.  I  bring  water,  I  bring 
blanket;  she  no  where  else  to  go." 

"  Alas,  alas  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bellamy,  "  it  is  too  true.  We 
have  no  shelter  left.  The  cabins  still  standing  would  not  be 
safe  places  of  retreat." 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  159 

Katy,  whose  senses,  instead  of  forsaking  her,  had  become 
intensified  by  the  agony  of  fear;  assisted  Mr.  Bellamy  in  the 
restoration  of  her  benefactress.  The  water  which  Hannibal 
brought,  and  with  which  they  copiously  bathed  her  face  and 
hands,  soon  recalled  her  to  recollection  and  to  a  knowledge  of 
the  calamity  that  had  befallen  them. 

"  God  be  praised,"  were  her  first  words,  seeing  her  husband 
on  one  side  and  Katy  on  the  other,  while  Hannibal,  standing 
at  her  feet,  intercepted  the  blaze  of  her  dwelling.  "  My  hus 
band  is  spared — my  own  dear  child  I" 

Hannibal,  who  had  begun  to  fear  that  it  was  only  the  dead 
body  of  his  mistress  he  had  borne  into  that  sacred  inclosure, 
so  long  and  deep  was  her  insensibility,  clapped  his  hands  joy 
fully  together,  and  the  big  drops  came  splashing  down  his 
cheeks,  all  glistening  with  perspiration. 

"  Who  saved  me  ?"  she  cried,  sitting  up,  and  looking  round 
her  with  a  bewildered  air.  "Ah,  I  remember  now.  It  was 
you,  my  husband.  You  carried  me  down  the  burning  stair 
case." 

"No,  Isabel;  that  passage  would  have  been  our  grave. 
There  stands  the  preserver  of  your  life  and  mine,  and  hers  too. 
We  should  all  have  been  burnt  to  cinders  now,  if  it  had  not 
been  for  Hannibal.  He  scaled  the  walls — lie  snatched  you 
from  the  flames — lie  showed  me  the  way  of  escape.  Again  he 
perilled  his  life  for  that  poor  shrieking  girl,  who  was  about  to 
leap  from  the  window,  death  behind  and  before  her.  Isabel, 
in  the  hands  of  God,  lie  has  been  our  Saviour.  How  shall  we 
thank  him  ?  how  shall  we  reward  him  ?" 

"  I  no  want  thanks.  I  no  want  any  thing.  I  too  happy 
already.  My  heart  'most  ready  to  burst,"  cried  Hannibal, 
drawing  the  back  of  his  hand  over  his  brimming  eyes. 

"  Hannibal,"  said  his  mistress,  leaning  forward  and  extend 
ing  her  hand  eagerly  towards  him,  "  Hannibal,  come  near  me?" 

The  tall  slave  approached  his  still  reclining  mistress.  He 
could  not  reach  the  hand  she  held  towards  him  without  kneel 
ing,  and  with  a  sudden  but  not  ungraceful  genuflection,  he  bent 


160  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

over  her,  while  her  pale  fingers  tried  to  clasp  his  hard  and 
jetty  hand. 

"  Grod  bless  you,  Hannibal,"  she  cried  in  a  voice  half  choked 
with  emotion,  "  and  He  will  bless  you.  He  will  bless  you  in 
heaven.  But,  what  shall  we  do  for  you  on  earth  ?  Ask  any 
thing  of  us — any  thing  left  us  to  bestow.  Freedom  shall  be 
yours,  Hannibal,  from  this  moment.  I  know  your  master's 
heart  as  well  as  my  own.  I  speak  for  him  too." 

"  Yes  I"  repeated  Mr.  Bellamy  with  warmth,  "  your  heart 
does  speak  for  me.  Hannibal,  you  are  free — your  mother 
too.  I  wish  I  had  a  greater  boon  to  bestow,  and  it  should  be 
yours." 

The  negro  bowed  his  head  on  his  breast,  and  wept  aloud. 
The  gentle  Katy  sobbed  with  him. 

"  I  wish  /  had  something  to  give  you,  Hannibal,"  said  she, 
"  but  I  will  love  you  as  long  as  I  live." 

"Don't  talk  so  to  Hannibal,  mistress.  Please,  master; 
please,  Miss  Katy,  don't.  He  can't  stand  it.  He  no  want 
freedom.  He  stay  with  you  all,  all  his  born  days ;  and  when 
he  die  he  want  you  to  bury  him  'long  side  of  Cora,  where  he 
lay  you  down  this  night.  Oh  !  mistress,  when  I  see  you  put 
your  hands  in  the  live  blaze  to  save  poor  Cora,  I  vow  'fore  my 
Heavenly  Master  I'd  die  for  you  and  master  jist  for  that. 
Don't  send  me  away.  I  work  for  you  as  long  I  live." 

A  slight  shriek  from  Mrs.  Bellamy  startled  them  all.  "  My 
hand  is  covered  with  blood,"  she  cried,  holding  out  her  drip 
ping  fingers.  "  Hannibal,  it  is  yours." 

"  Me  !  mistress.  Sure  enough,"  cried  the  negro,  holding 
out  his  right  arm,  from  which  the  blood  was  now  perceptibly 
flowing  from  the  shoulder  to  the  hand.  "  I  no  know  nothing 
'bout  it  'fore." 

It  was  evident  that  he  had  received  a  severe  wound  on  the 
shoulder,  probably  from  a  piece  of  falling  timber,  but  in  the 
excitement  of  the  scene  was  unconscious  of  the  injury. 

"  Your  mother's  cabin  still  stands,"  said  Mrs.  Bellamy, 
"and  it  is  so  far  from  the  flames  we  can  venture  there  the 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  161 

back  way.     Let  us  all  go  there,  and  we  can  dress  Hannibal's 
wound.     Poor  fellow !  to  think  he  never  knew  it." 

Grateful  that  any  shelter  remained  to  which  they  could  turn, 
the  houseless  master  and  mistress  of  that  late  noble  mansion 
sought  the  dwelling  of  the  aged  slave,  who,  forgetting  her 
rheumatic  pains  in  the  horrors  of  the  night,  had  been  hobbling 
about  trying  to  help  the  others.  There  Mrs.  Bellamy  bound  up 
Hannibal's  bleeding  arm ;  then,  overcome  with  fatigue  and  the 
anguish  of  her  feelings,  sank  down  upon  the  bed  of  his  mother. 

Desolate  was  the  dawning  of  the  morning.  The  rain,  so 
long  invoked  as  a  blessing,  began  to  descend  on  the  smoulder 
ing  ruins,  making  the  "  blackness  of  ashes"  still  blacker,  and 
the  thick  gloom  still  more  gloomy.  The  negroes  crowded  to 
gether  in  the  remaining  cabins,  weary  from  their  exertions  and 
sad  from  their  loss;  leaning  on  their  elbows,  and  gazing  va 
cantly  on  the  blackened  walls  and  the  fallen  ruins.  King, 
who  had  laboured  faithfully  for  his  master  during  the  fire, 
and  saved  a  valuable  cabinet  of  papers  at  imminent  risk ;  who 
had  seen  his  own  nice  cabin  burnt  to  ashes,  sat  mournfully  by 
his  coal-black  Pinkey,  who  was  sobbing  over  her  misfortunes. 
He  was  terribly  reminded  of  the  fate  of  poor  Cora,  whom  he 
had  once  so  devotedly  loved,  and  lived  over  the  scene  of  his 
ill-starred  bridal  night. 

Mr.  Bellamy  and  Warland,  sitting  on  a  bed  of  cotton  in  the 
gin,  thus  sheltered  from  the  rain,  made  plans  for  the  future, 
and  had  already  built  in  anticipation  another  and  more  splendid 
habitation. 

Mrs.  Bellamy  and  Katy  were  sleeping  in  each  other's  arms 
on  the  negro's  comfortable  bed.  Milly  had  placed  clean  pil 
lows  under  them,  and  spread  over  them  a  new  white  counter 
pane,  treading  on  tiptoe  lest  she  should  chase  their  slumbers. 
Hannibal,  whose  arm  became  every  moment  more  painful,  but 
who  disdained  to  give  expression  to  his  sufferings,  leaned  back 
against  the  wall,  with  his  teeth  pressed  tight  against  each  other, 
so  that  a  groan  could  not  escape  that  might  wake  his  mistress 

It  was  in  this  situation  Doctor  Manning  found  them,  who 
62 


162  MARCUS  WAELAND;  OR, 

being  called  out  early  on  professional  business,  became  aware 
of  the  misfortune  of  his  friends,  and  hastened  to  proffer  his 
services.  He  found  the  arm  of  Hannibal,  which  he  was  imme 
diately  requested  to  examine,  had  sustained  a  very  serious  in 
jury.  The  doctor  had  felt  a  strong  interest  in  this  negro 
since  the  night  he  had  made  a  clean  conscience  by  confessing 
to  him  his  secret  sins;  and  now,  when  informed  of  his  noble 
self-devotion,  his  interest  deepened  into  respect  and  admiration. 

"Why,  my  brave  fellow,"  said  he,  "you  have  a  very  bad 
hurt  here.  How  and  when  did  it  happen  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  nothing  'bout  it,  sir,"  answered  Hannibal. 
"  Didn't  know  I  was  hurt  till  mistress  saw  the  blood  on  her 
own  fingers." 

"  But  this  threatens  to  be  a  serious  matter,"  said  the  doctor, 
with  a  countenance  so  expressive  of  anxiety,  Hannibal  began 
to  tremble — not  from  the  dread  of  pain,  but  a  more  horrible 
dread,  the  loss  of  that  strong  right  arm,  the  sceptre  of  autho 
rity  among  his  sable  brethren. 

"  Oh  !  doctor,  you  are  going  to  cut  off  my  arm.  Good  mas 
ter  doctor  please,  you  not  going  to  do  no  such  thing.  If  I  got 
to  die,  I  must,  but  I'd  rather  die  twenty  times  over  than  live 
with  this  here  arm  in  the  grave  afore  me,  I  had.  I  don't  want 
to  live  no  longer  than  I  work." 

"  Be  quiet,  my  good  fellow,"  said  the  doctor,  involuntarily 
smiling  at  Hannibal's  look  of  unutterable  horror.  "  My  fin 
gers  are  not  knives.  They  cannot  cut  you.  I  hope  and  trust 
there  will  be  no  need  of  robbing  you  of  such  an  honourable 
member  as  this." 

"  I  die  fust,  doctor — 'deed  I  will." 

"  We  must  keep  down  the  inflammation,"  continued  the  phy 
sician,  with  an  air  of  authority,  which  did  not  lose  sight  of 
kindness,  yet  claimed  obedience  from  his  subject.  "  You  must 
be  perfectly  still,  and  be  very  careful  of  what  you  eat  and 
drink." 

"  I  starve  'fore  I  lose  this  arm,"  said  the  excited  general. 

"Why,  Hannibal,  I  have  not  threatened  you  with  the 


THE  LONG    MOSS   SPRING.  1C3 

loss  of  your  arm.  I  only  said  it  was  a  serious  matter,  and  so 
it  is." 

"  You  look  so  sharp,  doctor.  You  look  as  if  you  going  to 
cut  me." 

The  doctor  laughed  outright.  Hannibal's  interpretation 
of  Doctor  Manning's  expression  showed  the  power  of  associa 
tion  in  a  most  remarkable  manner.  Nothing  could  be  more 
genial  than  his  countenance,  more  bland  and  gentle  than  his 
manner,  but  since  he  had  been  compelled  to  amputate  the  limb 
of  one  of  Hannibal's  black  friends,  he  had  looked  upon  him 
with  fear  and  trembling.  It  gives  us  pleasure  to  say  that  his 
skill  was  availing  in  this  instance,  and  that  the  noble  arm  of 
Hannibal  was  spared  the  terrible  gash  of  the  amputating  knife. 

Bellamy  Place  was  at  least  two  miles  from  the  nearest 
plantation,  but  before  noon,  several  carriages  arrived,  to  bear 
the  family  to  the  homes  of  their  friends.  Mrs.  Bellamy  did 
not  like  to  leave  Hannibal,  and  indeed  refused  to  do  so ;  but 
Aunt  Milly,  who  was  the  queen  of  nurses,  promised  to  watch 
over  him  with  the  tenderest  care,  and  she  knew  Dr.  Manning 
would  be  assiduous  in  his  attentions. 

It  was  pleasant  to  be  surrounded  once  more  with  all  the 
comforts  and  elegancies  of  life,  though  no  longer  their  own ; 
to  be  clothed  in  nice  and  handsome  garments,  though  not  their 
own.  All  their  wardrobe  was  burned.  They  had  saved  nothing 
from  the  wreck  but  their  night-raiments  that  covered  them. 
Most  of  the  furniture,  too,  was  destroyed ;  but  the  money  and  pa 
pers  were  saved.  The  cotton  was  spared ;  their  negroes  re 
mained.  The  loss  was  comparatively  small  to  what  it  might  have 
been.  Now  they  had  leisure  to  reflect  upon  the  manner  in 
which  the  fire  had  been  communicated.  As  it  was  still  sultry, 
there  had  been  no  fire  kindled  in  the  house,  and  yet  the  north 
wing  had  taken  fire,  evidently  in  the  lower  part.  Mr.  Bella 
my  remembered  smoking  a  pipe  in  that  room  before  retiring 
to  bed,  and  rapping  out  the  contents  of  the  bowl  on  the  hearth. 
The  wind  must  have  blown  a  coal  in  contact  with  some  com 
bustible  material,  and  thus  lighted  the  wrath  of  an  element, 


164  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

which,  like  its  antagonist,  water,  makes  the  most  splendid  of 
vassals,  but  the  most  awful  of  masters. 

"  I  will  never  smoke  another  pipe  while  I  live,"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Bellamy,  with  remorseful  energy — and  he  never  did; 
but  after  a  while  the  blue  smoke  of  his  fragrant  Havanas 
curled  gracefully  round  his  head.  A  spark  from  a  cigar  might 
kindle  a  conflagration,  too ;  but  it  was  not  a  pipe,  and  he  had 
not  violated  his  oath. 

It  may  be  said  by  some,  that  Hannibal's  selection  of  the 
place  where  he  bore  his  rescued  mistress,  was  the  last  the  pro 
verbially  superstitious  negro  would  have  chosen.  But  though 
Hannibal  had  all  the  superstitions  of  his  race,  in  this  instance 
it  was  unaccompanied  by  fear.  Had  she  been  buried  in  some 
lone  field,  where  the  wild-brier  was  suffered  to  trail,  and  the 
reptile  to  crawl,  he  might  have  shunned  it  as  haunted  ground. 
But  she  slept  so  near  his  own  cabin,  where  he  could  see  her 
quiet  bed,  whenever  he  went  out  into  the  field  in  the  morning, 
or  returned  to  his  evening  rest.  The  hand  of  affection  had 
made  it  so  beautiful,  and  his  mistress  had  talked  to  him  so 
sweetly  of  Cora  in  heaven,  Cora  happy  in  her  Saviour's  par 
doning  love,  and  of  the  holy  angels  that  guarded  the  place  of 
her  repose,  that  Hannibal  grew  to  love  it,  above  every  spot  of 
earth,  and  to  believe  he  beheld  with  his  actual  glance  those 
heavenly  beings,  keeping  their  nightly  guard,  whom  his  mis 
tress  only  saw  with  the  inward  eye  of  faith. 

When  he  had  recovered  the  use  of  his  arm,  and  commenced 
his  labours,  with  even  more  than  his  accustomed  zeal,  Mr. 
Bellamy  renewed  the  offer  which  had  been  rejected  on  the 
night  of  the  fire. 

"  Your  mistress  gave  you  your  freedom,  Hannibal,"  said 
his  master,  "  and  I  too  repeated  the  gift  with  all  my  heart  and 
eoul.  You  refused  to  accept  it  then ;  but  you  were  excited, 
and  nad  not  had  time  to  reflect  on  the  value  of  what  you  re 
jected.  Once  more  I  make  you  the  same  offer.  I  break  your 
bonds.  Hannibal,  you  are  henceforth  and  forever  free." 

"  And  I  must  leave  you,  master  ?" 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  165 

"  To  remain  among  those  who  have  been  your  fellow-slaves, 
would  create  discontent,  perhaps,  and  ill-will.  Yes ;  but  you 
could  go  back  to  your  native  country — that  is,  the  country  of 
your  fathers.  I  can  send  you  to  Liberia,  where  a  colony  of 
your  own  colour  is  established,  and  where  you  may,  perchance, 
be  happier  than  you  have  ever  been  with  me." 

Hannibal  spread  both  hands  on  the  top  of  the  shovel  he  wag 
holding,  and  leaned  his  chin  over  on  the  firm  platform,  with 
his  large,  thoughtful  eyes  fixed  steadily  on  the  ground.  Ho 
seemed  to  be  revolving  deeply  the  momentous  question,  so 
calmly  and  deliberately  presented  to  him.  At  length,  raising 
his  head  and  drawing  a  deep  inspiration,  he  said  :  "  I  been 
argufying  the  subject  with  myself,  master,  and  I  comes  to 
this  conclusion — I  rather  stay  with  you  and  mistress,  jist  as  I  be, 
and  jist  as  you  be,  than  go  way  off  'mong  strange  people,  who 
know  nothing  and  care  nothing  'bout  me,  no  more  than  the 
man  in  the  moon.  I've  sometimes  thought,  when  I  been 
working  and  thinking,  'twould  be  mighty  fine  thing  to  be  free, 
work  jist  when  I  pleased,  and  long  as  I  pleased,  and  make  a 
heap  of  money  all  for  my  own  self;  and  if  I'd  had  a  hard  mas 
ter,  as  some  niggers  has,  I'd  a  run  off,  and  gone  where  the  free 
folks  live.  But  you  allos  been  kind,  and  mistress  too.  When 
I  sick  you  nuss  me  and  pray  for  me.  Doctor  come  and  make 
me  well.  When  I  die,  you  bury  me  long  side  of  Cora,  and 
mistress  and  miss  Katy  come  and  cry  over  poor  Hannibal,  and 
say,  (  Poor  fellow — so  sorry  he  done  dead.'  Way  off  yonder, 
they  no  care  whether  he  live  or  die.  No,  master,  I  stay  and 
work  with  you,  Lord  willing,  long  as  I  live." 

Hannibal  held  out  his  Herculean  hand,  and  Mr.  Bellamy 
grasped  it  warmly,  cordially,  gratefully.  He  felt  that  he  had 
a  friend,  a  sincere,  honest,  true-hearted  friend,  in  the  devoted 
African. 

'<  God  bless  you,  Hannibal." 

"  God  bless  you  too,  master." 

The  general  felt  bound  to  his  master  ever  after  by  a  bond, 
stronger  than  that  of  slavery — a  bond  that  never  could  be 
loosened. 


166  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  Come,  share  my  all,  my  own  true  friend, 

My  purse  and  heart  divide  ; 
I'll  love  and  trust  thee  to  the  end, 
Whatever  may  betide." — BALLAD. 

BELLAMY  Place  rose  from  its  ashes  adorned  with  new  beauty. 
It  had  lost,  however,  s»me  of  its  depth  of  shade,  for  several 
of  its  noble  hickories  had  bowed  beneath  the  axe,  after  being 
scathed  and  blasted  by  the  breath  of  the  flame.  The  mansion 
was  not  completed  internally,  but  a  sufficient  number  of  rooms 
was  finished  to  furnish  a  pleasant  and  comfortable  home  for  the 
lately  exiled  family. 

Man  loves  to  build,  and  to  enter  in ;  he  loves  to  plan,  and 
to  execute ;  to  improve  on  the  labours  of  the  past,  to  see  in  the 
forms  of  beauty  and  fitness  growing  out  under  his  directing 
hand,  the  refinement  of  his  taste,  and  the  progression  of  his 
understanding.  While  the  old  mansion  remained  strong,  com 
fortable,  and  handsome,  Mr.  Bellamy  had  no  plea  for  erecting 
a  new  one.  But  since  necessity  gave  the  command,  he  had 
found  excitement  and  delight  in  superintending  a  work  in 
which  the  classic  taste  of  his  friend  "Warland  greatly  assisted 
him.  Another  reflection  added  to  the  satisfaction  of  Mr.  Bel 
lamy.  He  had  experienced  a  domestic  misfortune ;  the  hand 
of  chastisement  had  been  laid  upon  him,  gently,  it  is  true,  but 
he  was  no  longer  that  strange  anomaly — a  man  all  sunshine. 
The  cloud  had  come,  had  passed;  he  felt  as  if  he  had  a  better 
right  to  the  returning  sunbeams.  Ah,  what  right  has  man  to 
any  earthly  possessions  ?  By  what  tenure  does  he  retain  the 
gifts  of  God  ? 

"The  spider's  most  attenuated  thread 
Is  cord,  is  cable  to  man's  slender  hold" 

on  human  joy  or  wealth. 

There  is  an  old  adage,  (and  there  is  truth  in  these  time- 
honoured  sayings,)  that  "  misfortunes  never  come  singly." 
And  a  great  poet  has  said,  that  "  woes  tread  on  the  heels  of 
each  other."  There  does  seem  to  be  a  gregarious  principle  in 


1HE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  167 

the  whole  family  of  misfortune,  and  where  one  sad  member  has 
found  admission,  one  by  one  the  pale  sisterhood  come  gliding  in. 

"When  Mr.  Bellamy  was  in  College,  there  was  another  young 
man,  a  southerner,  and  a  Georgian,  too,  who  entered  at  the 
same  time ;  and  during  the  four  years  of  his  college  life,  he 
was  his  classmate  and  friend.  His  name  was  Arnold.  When 
the  graduated  students  separated  on  the  threshold  of  manhood, 
they  pledged  mutual  faith  and  confidence,  however  widely  their 
paths  might  be  divided.  Years  passed,  and  Mr.  Bellamy  knew 
not  the  fortune  of  his  friend,  till  he  suddenly  came  in  his 
neighbourhood, — that  is,  within  twenty  miles, — having  pur 
chased  a  plantation  about  that  distance  from  Hickory  Hill.  Mr. 
Bellamy  rejoiced  in  having  an  opportunity  of  renewing  his 
youthful  friendship,  though  he  regretted  to  find  that  the  world 
seemed  to  have  had  a  hardening  influence  on  his  former  frank 
and  convivial  companion.  After  a  while,  Arnold  requested 
his  friend  to  become  his  security  for  a  debt  of  some  magnitude. 
Unhesitatingly  was  the  signature  given.  "When  again  a  simi 
lar  request  was  made,  he  did  not  shrink  from  this  act  of  confi 
dence.  Arnold  was  considered  a  wealthy  man,  and  an  honour 
able  man,  and  Mr.  Bellamy  was  the  most  generous  and  con 
fiding  of  human  beings.  About  a  year  before  the  burning  of 
Bellamy  Place,  Arnold  once  more  called. 

"  This  is  the  last  time,  Bellamy,"  said  he,  "  that  I  am  go 
ing  to  tax  your  friendship.  I  have  an  opportunity  of  making 
a  splendid  speculation,  and  it  would  be  madness  to  slight  it. 
In  a  few  years  I  shall  double  all  my  property.  The  plantation 
and  negroes  I  am  now  going  to  purchase  belong  to  an  estate 
contiguous  to  my  own.  If  I  do  not  buy  immediately  I  shall 
be  forestalled.  I  would  not  ask  any  one  else  to  be  my  security; 
I  know  you  consider  it  a  compliment.  I  wish  you  would  re 
turn  it,  Bellamy." 

Mr.  Bellamy  had  thus  gradually  become  security  for  debts 
amounting  to,  at  least,  a  hundred  thousand  dollars.  Still  he 
had  no  misgivings.  He  could  not  distrust,  the  world  smiled 
on  Arnold,  and  his  splendid  speculations  all  seemed  to  prosper. 


168  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

Indeed,  he  had  not  the  smallest  doubt  but  that  the  first  debts 
had  been  paid.  The  manner  in  which  he  had  solicited  the 
favour  the  last  time,  convinced  him  that  his  own  mind  was  free 
from  all  pecuniary  anxiety,  and  that  his  asking  him  at  all  was 
a  mere  matter  of  form.  He  had  seen  him  once  since  the  burn 
ing  of  his  dwelling,  and  Arnold  had  expressed  the  most  un 
bounded  sympathy  and  regret,  and  urged  him  to  come  and 
remain  with  them  till  their  house  was  completed.  Mrs.  Bel 
lamy  declined  the  invitation.  She  had  never  liked  Arnold. 
She  seemed  to  have  an  intuitive  perception  of  his  character, 
but  as  he  was  her  husband's  friend,  his  early  college  friend, 
she  did  not  like  to  express  her  want  of  confidence  in  his  moral 
worth.  She  could  give  no  reasons  for  the  conclusions  to  which 
she  had  arrived,  but  she  felt  it  to  be  just. 

One  morning,  while  King  was  brushing  his  master's  coat, 
with  his  light  and  practised  hand,  he  entertained  him,  as  he 
often  did,  with  the  news  of  the  day. 

"  Master,  you  'member  Mr.  Arnold,  that  used  to  come  here 
and  laugh  so  much  ?  They  say  he  gone  off,  and  all  his  nig 
gers.  Nobody  knows  where." 

Mr.  Bellamy  started. 

"Ah  !  who  told  you  so  ?" 

"  One  of  Doctor  Manning's  coloured  folks,  here,  last  night, 
and  told  me  all  about  it.  He  says  he  owed  his  master,  and 
he  no  quality  folks,  to  run  off  without  paying." 

"  Pshaw,  King ;  don't  repeat  such  nonsense.  He  may  have 
gone  a  journey,  but  as  for  running  away,  it  is  out  of  the  ques 
tion.  Mr.  Arnold — impossible ;  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing; 
impossible !" 

"  It's  sure  enough  true,  master.  Doctor  Manning  knows. 
He  heard  of  it,  and  went  there  to  see.  The  house  all  shut  up, 
and  not  a  nigger  to  be  seen,  black  or  white,  about  the  lot.  I 
thought  you'd  like  to  hear  it,  master,"  continued  King,  flourish 
ing  his  brush  with  fresh  vigour.  He  felt  the  consequence  of 
having  communicated  intelligence,  that  certainly  agitated  his 
master. 


THE   LONQ   MOSS   SPRING.  169 

Mrs.  Bellamy,  who  sat  in  a  loose  morning  wrapper,  braiding 
her  hair,  let  it  fall  upon  her  shoulders.  She  little  knew  how 
deeply  interested  she  herself  was  in  this  reported  flight.  She 
felt  that  vague  satisfaction  we  are  all  conscious  of  having  ex 
perienced,  when  facts  confirm  our  preconceived  and  apparently 
groundless  opinions. 

"  I  suspect  it  is  true,"  said  she.  "  I  never  did  have  any 
confidence  in  that  man.  I  am  sorry,  on  your  account,  that  he 
is  gone,  and  in  such  a  disgraceful  manner;  but  I  did  not 
think  it  would  affect  you  so  much.  Why,  you  really  look 
pale,  agitated." 

"  King,  saddle  my  bay  horse,"  said  his  master.  As  soon  as 
he  had  left  the  room,  Mr.  Bellamy  continued,  "  I  have  reason 
to  look  pale,  Isabel.  It  may  be  that  we  are  all  ruined.  Heaven 
forbid,  though,  that  you  should  suffer  through  any  deed  of  mine." 
Then  he  related  to  his  wife  all  his  transactions  with  Arnold,  and 
his  fears  that  a  man  who  could  leave  the  country  in  that  clan 
destine  manner,  would  not  hesitate  to  involve  his  friends  in  ruin. 

"  But  it  is  only  the  last  debt  that  I  have  any  misgivings 
about,"  he  added.  "  The  first  I  know  are  paid.  I  will  go 
over  and  see  Doctor  Manning.  I  will  investigate  the  matter. 
We  must  find  some  clue  to  his  new  home." 

Mr.  Bellamy  mounted  his  bay  horse,  without  waiting  for 
breakfast,  and  rode  away  with  an  anxious  and  troubled  coun 
tenance.  He  returned  at  night,  weary  and  depressed.  Arnold 
had  indeed  gone — had  been  gone  nearly  a  week,  as  it  was  sup 
posed,  though  the  time  of  his  departure  could  not  be  ascer 
tained  ;  and  he  could  obtain  no  clue  by  which  to  follow  his 
course.  Doctor  Manning,  to  whom  he  was  deeply  indebted, 
and  who  heard  accidentally  of  his  sudden  exodus,  had  been 
making  earnest  enquiries,  and  all  that  he  had  learned  was  of 
the  most  unsatisfactory  nature.  Mr.  Arnold's  plantation  was 
isolated,  being  separated  by  a  long  sweep  of  pine  forests  from 
his  nearest  neighbour.  He  had  purchased  the  one  next  his 
own,  when  he  last  complimented  Mr.  Bellamy  by  requesting 
him  to  stand  sponsor  to  the  deed.  No  situation  could  be  more 


170  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

favourable  for  a  clandestine  departure ;  and  whether  he  had 
gone  to  the  winding  banks  of  the  Mississippi,  or  the  gulf- 
washed  shores  of  Texas,  or  any  other  of  the  luxuriant  regions 
where  slavery  could  find  a  home,  it  was  in  vain  to  interrogate. 
Mr.  Bellamy  soon  ascertained  the  full  extent  of  his  responsi 
bilities.  Arnold  had  paid  none  of  the  notes  that  bore  his  sig 
nature.  The  whole  immense  weight  of  debt  rested  on  him. 
In  the  existing  circumstances  he  stood  a  ruined  man.  All  he 
asked  was  time — time  till  every  measure  that  wisdom  and  pru 
dence  might  suggest  and  energy  execute,  had  been  taken  to 
discover  the  retreat  of  his  treacherous  friend,  (so  justly  named 
after  the  arch-traitor  of  his  country,)  and  throw  back  upon  him 
the  responsibilities  he  had  so  dishonourably  imposed  on  another. 

He  would  have  commenced  an  immediate  pursuit,  but  while 
he  was  travelling  in  one  direction,  Arnold  might  be  winging 
his  way  in  another,  and  thus  the  distance  between  them  be 
only  increased.  Mr.  "VVarland  was  indefatigable  in  his  exer 
tions  to  find  the  route  of  the  fugitive,  and  was  absent  many 
days  in  his  fruitless  search.  He  had  written  to  his  son  a  full 
statement  of  the  pecuniary  embarrassments  of  his  benefactor, 
and  waited  with  anxiety  his  reply.  It  wanted  only  a  few 
months  of  the  time  marked  out  for  the  completion  of  his 
studies,  and  for  his  return  to  the  sunny  South. 

The  return  of  Marcus  had  been  anticipated  by  the  family 
as  a  kind  of  social  millennium.  Mr.  Bellamy's  large  and 
generous  heart  had  been  expanding  and  glowing  with  the 
hopes  associated  with  his  adopted  son.  He  would  establish 
him  in  the  world,  with  all  the  munificence  he  would  have  done 
a  son  who  bore  his  name,  and  would  perpetuate  its  honours. 
Thus  relieved  from  every  sordid  care,  his  brilliant  talents  should 
bear  him,  and  light  him  up  to  the  heights  of  fame,  and  he 
himself  would  rest  happy  in  the  proud  distinction  of  having 
assisted  in  the  development  of  his  mind  of  beauty  and  strength, 
of  having  given  it  opportunity  and  sunshine,  the  means  to 
acquire,  the  power  to  enjoy,  and  the  station  to  influence. 
Now,  what  could  he  do  fcr  Marcus?  With  a  sudden  and 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  171 

crushing  weight  of  debt  incumbent  on  him,  which  might  in 
volve  the  contingency  of  selling  his  slaves,  those  sable  children 
of  his  care,  he  could  no  longer  indulge  in  the  luxury  of  bene 
volence. 

Mrs.  Bellamy,  timid  and  delicate  woman  that  she  was,  the 
tender  and  indulged  child  of  prosperity,  contemplated  with 
more  fortitude  than  her  husband  their  darkened  prospects. 
She  was  more  sanguine,  more  hopeful,  more  certain  that  every 
thing  "  would  work  together  for  good"  at  last. 

"  I  am  sure,"  she  would  say,  in  her  sweet,  assuring  accents, 
"  that  we  shall  discover  where  your  false  friend  has  hid  him 
self.  The  creditors  are  all  honourable  men,  who  will  not  op 
press  you.  They  will  give  you  time,  and  that  is  all  you  want. 
Two  or  three  years  of  harvest  as  abundant  as  the  last,  will 
enable  you  to  pay  the  whole.  We  may  have  to  economise,  it 
is  true  j  but  household  discipline  will  do  us  good.  Ah  !  but 
Marcus — you  say.  "Well,  Marcus  is  now  prepared  to  battle 
with  the  world.  With  his  splendid  natural  endowments,  and  the 
education  you  have  given  him,  he  has  a  capital  to  commence 
with,  which  the  richest,  proudest  youth  in  the  land  might 
envy.  I  have  no  fears  for  him.  You  wanted  to  give  our 
sweet  Katy  a  handsome  marriage  portion  !  Katy  is  a  fortune 
in  herself;  and  he  who  does  not  think  so,  is  unworthy  of  her. 
Cheer  up  !  my  husband.  We  shall  remain  an  unbroken  house 
hold  yet ;  our  sable  families  will  not  be  scattered  to  the  four 
winds  of  heaven.  Faithful,  attached  creatures !  bitterly  should 
I  mourn  if  such  should  be  their  ultimate  destiny." 

As  the  air  softly  insinuates  itself  below  a  body  heavier  than 
itself,  and  buoys  it  up  above  the  earth  to  which  it  is  sinking, 
so  this  gentle  comforter  sustained  the  spirit  of  her  husband, 
and  counteracted  the  gravitating  influence  of  anxiety  and  care. 

Beautifully  has  one  of  the  sweetest  poets  that  ever  sang, 
described  the  influence  of  adversity  on  the  human  heart.  It 
is  indeed  only  in  the  night-time  of  our  being  that  the  stars  of 
Love,  and  Hope,  and  Faith  come  out  with  their  divine  radi 
ance,  setting  a  crown  of  glory  on  its  darkness.  It  is  omy  the 


172  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

wounded  heart  that  yields  the  richest  fragrance  of  affection. 
It  is  only  the  bruised  spirit  that  exhales  celestial  balm.  The 
buds  of  the  odoriferous  Calseanthus  are  scentless  as  the  acorn, 
till  crushed  by  the  hand  that  plucks  them.  Mr.  Bellamy 
thought  of  these  things,  and  was  comforted.  The  fidelity  and 
self-devotion  of  Hannibal  were  displayed  on  the  fiery  background 
of  his  burning  dwelling — splendid  relief  for  a  glorious  picture ! 
The  sweet  disinterestedness  and  resignation  of  his  wife  shone 
forth  on  the  cloud  that  treachery  had  rolled  above  him.  The 
gratitude  and  heroism  of  the  son  of  his  adoption  would  yet  be 
written  in  gilded  characters  on  the  same  gray  tablet. 

Nearly  two  years  from  the  night  that  Marcus  and  Delaval 
parted  from  Florence,  in  the  little  red-curtained  library,  they 
approached,  about  the  same  hour,  the  beautiful  suburbs  of 
Wood  Lawn.  They  entered  the  gate,  rode  round  the  semi 
circular  gravel  road  that  led  to  the  house,  guided  by  the  bright 
light  that  streamed  like  a  beacon  through  the  scarlet  drapery 
of  the  window.  The  heart  of  Marcus  throbbed  audibly  in  his 
bosom.  Delaval  uttered  an  exclamation  of  delight.  Just  as 
the  carriage  stopped,  a  girlish  figure  intercepted  the  rays  of 
that  beacon-lamp,  the  folds  of  the  curtains  were  gathered 
hastily  back,  a  radiant  face  flashed  for  a  moment,  like  the 
evening  star,  on  their  vision — then  disappeared. 

In  an  instant  the  door  was  opened.  The  music  of  light 
footsteps  was  heard.  The  star-beams  of  bright  eyes  were  seen ; 
and  Florence — L' eclair,  as  she  was  simultaneously  called  by 
the  two  friends,  was  in  the  arms  of  both.  In  that  moment  of 
joy,  so  intense  as  to  be  allied  to  anguish,  Marcus  remembered 
his  own  daring  lines — 

Be  mine  the  lightning's  arrowy  gleam, 

Though  death  he  working  in  its  dart, 
I'd  bask  heneath  the  scorching  beam, 

And  bind  it  burning  to  my  heart. 

He  felt  the  realization  of  his  prayer.  He  had  indeed  climbed 
the  mountain  steeps  of  fame,  he  clasped  in  his  arms  the  electric 
flame,  and  knew  that  its  radiant  glories  might  one  day  be  his. 
Florence,  who  with  the  wild  impulse  of  joy  had  flown  to  meet 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  173 

the  travellers,  thought  not  that  others  might  also  hear  the 
coming  wheels,  and  hasten  to  greet  them.  She  had  forgotten 
the  existence  of  her  stately  aristocratic  uncle ;  of  the  mild  but 
prosaic  Mrs.  Lewis.  Thought,  feeling,  memory,  were  for  the 
moment  all  fused  in  the  lightning,  whose  incarnation  she  was. 

Very  cold,  and  stately,  and  formal  was  the  greeting  Mr. 
Alston  awarded  to  Marcus.  The  threatened  insolvency  of  Mr. 
Bellamy  had  reached  the  inmates  of  Wood  Lawn,  and  his 
adopted  son  no  longer  found  favour  as  such  in  the  eyes  of  one 
who  was  so  exceedingly  careful  to  have  irreproachable  compa 
nions  for  his  nephew  and  niece.  He  had  witnessed  with  over 
whelming  astonishment  and  sovereign  displeasure  the  meeting 
between  him  and  Florence,  and  determined  that  very  night  to 
exercise  his  authority  as  a  guardian,  and  forbid  all  farther  in 
timacy,  or  even  intercourse.  The  co-heiress  of  Wood  Lawn 
should  be  taught  more  aspiring  views,  and  the  young  Adonis 
placed  on  his  true  level.  But  all  the  ice-bergs  of  the  polar 
seas  could  not  chill  the  glowing  heart  of  Marcus.  He  scarcely 
saw  the  stiff,  perpendicular  form  that  stood  with  glacial  mien 
on  the  threshold ;  he  was  conscious  of  but  one  thing,  the  pre 
sence,  the  love  of  L' eclair,  for  thus  his  spirit  baptised  her. 
She  stood  now  beneath  the  light  of  the  chandelier,  both  hands 
clasped  in  those  of  her  brother,  her  eyes  upturned  to  his  face, 
and  flashing  back  the  rays  that  illumined  them. 

"  Why,  Florence,  what  a  magnificent  girl  you  are,"  exclaimed 
Delaval,  releasing  one  hand  from  her  loving  clasp,  and  push 
ing  back  the  wild  flowing  ringlets  from  her  brow.  "  I  begin 
to  think  there  can  be  such  a  thing  as  a  handsome  brunette. 
Warland,  did  you  ever  see  any  one  so  wonderfully  beautiful 
in  two  years  ?" 

"  Oh  !  don't  ask  him,"  she  cried,  placing  her  hand,  laugh 
ingly,  on  her  brother's  lips,  to  imprison  the  flattering  words. 
"  He  never  was  guilty  of  a  compliment,  never — and  least  of 
all  to  me.  Don't  take  away  his  sublime  truthfulness.  It  is 
his  greatest  charm." 

"No  compliment  could  be  so  great  in  this  instance  as  the 


174  MARCUS  WARLAND;  on, 

simple  truth  you  admire  so  much,"  answered  Marcus.  "You 
are  right  in  saying  that  you  are  the  last  person  I  should  think 
of  complimenting." 

The  words  were  not  much,  but  the  manner  in  which  they 
were  uttered  gave  them  volumes  of  meaning.  The  bloom  of 
the  carnation  glowed  through  the  soft  olive  of  her  cheeks. 
They  certainly  presented  a  beautiful  contrast  as  they  stood  side 
by  side  in  the  brilliant  light  that  sparkled  from  above  on  the 
bright  mirror  of  their  faces,  and  which  each  reflected  back  to 
the  other ;  she  representing  the  warmth  and  resplendence 
of  her  own  sunny  South — he,  the  purity  and  vitality  of  the 
northern  clime,  whose  breezes  had  given  a  tone  of  manliness 
to  his  face  and  form,  wanting  in  the  person  of  the  youthful 
graduate.  His  hair,  too,  those  glorious  locks,  seemed  to  have 
caught  a  shadow  from  the  mountains,  'neath  whose  brow  he 
had  been  so  long  resting,  that  softened  while  it  deepened  their 
golden  splendour. 

Mr.  Alston,  who  had  been  absent  a  few  moments,  was  struck 
on  his  re-entrance  by  the  proximity  of  these  two  radiant  figures, 
and  the  increasing  danger  of  this  juxtaposition. 

"  Florence,"  said  he,  in  his  cold,  measured  tone,  with  that 
insufferable  wave  of  the  hand  he  deemed  so  majestic  and  awe- 
inspiring,  "  you  had  better  go  and  see  if  the  supper  is  in  a  due 
state  of  preparation  for  these  two  young  gentlemen.  They 
have  travelled  far,  and  must  by  this  time  feel,  in  an  uncom 
fortable  manner,  the  cravings  of  hunger." 

"  Mrs.  Lewis  is  attending  to  that,  uncle — you  know  she  is," 
answered  Florence  carelessly.  "  Sorry  indeed  should  I  be  for 
the  appetite  of  these  young  gentlemen,  if  they  had  no  better 
dependance  than  me  to  supply  their  wants.  Nor  do  I  believe 
they  are  so  very  hungry  yet.  For  myself,  I  am  too  happy  to 
eat  for  a  week  to  come." 

"Miss  Delaval,"  said  her  uncle,  with  deepening  gravity, 
•'  will  you  favour  me  with  your  company  in  the  library,  while 
your  brother  and  Mr.  Warland  partake  of  their  supper,  over 
which  Mrs.  Lewis  will  preside  with  due  attention." 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  175 

"  Who  is  Miss  Delaval  ?"  cried  Florence,  shrinking  -with, 
unconcealed  repugnance  from  the  proposed  tete-a-tete.  "  There 
is  no  Miss  Delaval  here,  I  am  sure,  to  her  uncle,  her  brother, 
or  her  friend." 

"  Miss  Florence  Delaval  knows  very  well  whom  I  mean,  and 
what  I  mean.  If  she  does  not  see  fit  to  give  me  her  company 
in  the  library  or  any  private  apartment,  she  will  force  me  to 
say  in  this  presence  what  I  shall  be  sorry  to  address  to  a  niece 
of  mine/' 

"  You  had  better  go,  sister,"  said  Delaval,  "and  entertain 
uncle,  while  "VVarland  and  myself  dispatch  our  suppers.  As 
you  have  both  supped,  we  do  not  care  about  having  you  stare 
at  us  while  we  are  swallowing  our  coffee  and  bread  and  butter. 
People  never  look  interesting  when  they  are  eating,  especially 
when  they  are  hungry,  and  are  apt  to  take  rather  large 
mouthfuls." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Alston,  Miss  Delaval  will  attend  you  to  the 
library,"  cried  Florence,  with  a  countenance  of  such  assumed 
solemnity  that  Delaval  laughed  outright ;  but  Marcus  bit  his 
indignant  lip,  well  divining  the  cause  of  the  required  interview, 
and  scarcely  able  to  restrain  the  impulse  that  urged  him  "to 
beard  the  Douglas  in  his  hall,"  and  assert  his  own  native  lord 
liness.  The  young  men  were  summoned  to  supper.  Florence 
led  the  way  to  the  library. 

Her  uncle  waved  his  hand  towards  a  chair.  She  silently 
waved  hers  towards  another,  with  a  motion  exactly  resembling 
his  own.  The  dignified  gentleman  was  disconcerted. 

"Niece!" 

"  Uncle !" 

"  I  hope  you  do  not  presume  to  make  sport  of  the  justly 
offended  feelings  of  your  guardian  and  delegated  parent.  I 
ought  not,  however,  to  be  surprised  at  any  thing  in  a  young 
lady  who  has  made  the  exhibition  I  have  witnessed  to-night." 

Florence  seated  herself  deliberately  in  a  chair,  and  folded 
her  arms  over  her  breast. 

"  Now,  sir,"  said  she,  fixing  her  eyes  steadfastly  upon  hiin^ 


176  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

"  I  am  ready  to  listen  with  becoming  gravity  to  the  charges 
you  are  about  to  bring  against  me ;  ready  to  hear  what  you 
would  be  sorry  to  address  to  a  niece  of  yours  in  the  presence 
of  others ;  ready  to  learn  what  exhibition  you  have  witnessed 
that  has  prepared  you  for  such  surprising  results." 

"  In  the  first  place,  Miss  Florence  Delaval,  your  reception 
of  this  young  man  was  the  most  unpardonable  thing  I  ever  be 
held.  That  the  heiress  of  Wood  Lawn,  a  young  lady  of  such 
expectations  and  responsibilities,  should  so  entirely  forget  the 
dignity  of  her  station,  her  pride  of  ancestry,  her  great  wealth 
and  high  character,  and  descend  to  the  permission  of  such  un 
warrantable  familiarity,  I  never  would  have  believed,  if  ocu 
lar  demonstration  had  not  forced  upon  me  the  conviction  of 
the  disgraceful  fact." 

"  Disgraceful !"  exclaimed  Florence,  starting  up,  the  wounded 
crimson  rushing  in  torrents  to  her  face  and  neck,  and  her 
haughty  eyes  emitting  sparkles  of  fire.  "  How  dare  you  thus 
insult  me,  sir  ?  From  my  own  father,  were  he  living,  I  would 
not  bear  it.  Disgraceful — unpardonable — unwarrantable — dis 
graceful  !  I  tell  you,  sir,  I  glory  in  feeling  all  you  consider 
my  shame  and  dishonour." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  Is  it  possible  ?"  repeated  Mr.  Alston, 
"  that  you  have  so  little  self-respect,  so  little  regard  for  the 
opinion  of  the  world.  But  if  you  have  suffered  yourself  to  be 
infatuated  by  the  mere  beauty  of  one  so  immeasurably  your 
inferior  in  rank ;  if  your  brother  blindly  permits  what  it  is  his 
duty  strenuously  to  guard  against,  /shall  certainly  exert  my 
authority  to  the  utmost,  and  forbid  this  young  man  all  farther 
intercourse  with  one  who,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  seems  utterly 
unconscious  what  is  due  to  herself  or  her  friends." 

"  I  defy  your  authority,  sir,  since  you  thus  abuse  it,"  she 
cried.  "  All  the  respect  due  to  my  mother's  brother  I  have 
ever  paid  you.  For  the  care  you  have  taken  of  my  interests 
and  property  I  have  been  duly  grateful,  but  you  never  had, 
and  never  will  have,  any  authority  over  my  affections.  If 
you  knew  me  a  little  better,  you  would  discover  that  the  very 


THE   LONG  MOSS   SPRING.  177 

attempt  to  restrain  them  only  gives  them  greater  strength  and 
power.  Marcus  Warland  my  inferior — your  inferior — any 
man's  inferior !  I  should  like  to  have  you  to  prove  it,  sir. 
The  time  will  come,  when  he  will  soar  so  high  above  you,  even 
in  rank,  that  you  will  feel  honoured  by  his  slightest  notice. 
Beauty  !"  repeated  she,  with  a  smile  of  disdain.  "  I  hope  I 
am  above  being  infatuated  by  mere  beauty ;  but  the  strong 
will,  the  lofty  spirit,  the  generous  heart,  these  are  fascinations 
whose  power  I  am  not  ashamed  to  own,  whose  power  has  made 
me  what  I  am." 

"  You  are  a  very  self-willed  and  unmanageable  young  lady ; 
that  is  what  you  are." 

"  Well,  uncle,  I  am  just  of  age  now — George  is  of  age;  you 
are  not  obliged  to  trouble  yourself  any  longer  with  the  manage 
ment  of  my  rebellious  will ;  you  seem  to  have  forgotten  this 
circumstance." 

"I  did  not  expect  such  an  ungrateful  return  for  all  my 
sare,"  said  Mr.  Alston,  walking  with  stately  steps  the  length 
of  the  library,  then  turning  to  retrace  them,  "  I  thought  I  had 
inspired  some  little  affection,  some  faint  respect,  but  I  see  I 
have  been  mistaken.  Long  years  of  watchfulness  and  anxiety 
are  forgotten,  as  though  they  had  never  been." 

"No,  no,  dear  uncle,  they  are  not  forgotten,"  exclaimed 
Florence,  springing  forward  and  seizing  his  unwilling  hand  in 
bnth  her  own ;  "  I  may  be  wilful  and  unmanageable,  but  not 
ungrateful ;  oh,  no.  You  have  been  very  kind  to  two  orphan 
children,  indeed  you  have.  I  would  not  be  disrespectful,  or 
independent  of  your  authority ;  but  when  you  say  such  terrible 
things,  as  you  have  to-night,  you  turn  my  blood  to  flame,  and 
I  know  not  what  I  say.  I  really  feel  as  if  there  were  a  deep 
scar  here,"  added  she,  putting  her  hand  to  her  forehead,  "  a 
blistering  one.  But  let  us  understand  each  ofher  fully;  for  I 
would  not,  willingly,  pass  through  another  scene  like  this. 
That  you  may  not  believe  that  I  have  been  actuated  to-night 
by  a  bold  and  unmaidenly  impulse,  I  will  show  you  proofs  of 
a  long  and  heart-felt  communion."  Opening  a  rosewood  cabi- 
63 


178  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

net,  she  took  out  a  packet  of  letters,  tied  with  a  blue  rihbon, 
and  continued, — "  These  letters,  dear  uncle,  I  have  received 
from  Marcus  Warland,  under  cover  of  my  brother's,  while  he 
has  been  resident  in  a  northern  clime.  These  letters  I  have 
answered  under  the  same  fraternal  authority.  For  two  years 
our  minds,  hearts  and  souls  have  been  holding  the  closest,  the 
most  sacred  communion.  For  two  years  I  have  been  feeding 
on  the  heavenly  wisdom  of  his  written  words,  and  growing  in 
mental  grace  and  purity.  Oh  !  these  letters,"  she  exclaimed, 
with  a  kindling  countenance,  apparently  forgetting  whom  she 
was  addressing,  and  pressing  them  with  an  impassioned  gesture 
against  her  heart,  "  how  they  have  exalted  and  purified  my  in 
most  being  !  They  are  the  transcript  of  an  angelic  nature ; 
the  breathings  of  an  immortal  spirit.  Can  you  blame  me,  be 
cause  my  soul  bounded  to  meet  the  soul  that  had  been  trans 
posed,  as  it  were,  into  my  own  ?  That  my  heart  sought  the 
heart  that  governed  and  ruled  my  own,  even  when  mountains 
heaved  and  rivers  rolled  between  us?" 

Mr.  Alston  gazed  upon  the  spirited,  passionate  beauty  of  his 
niece  with  feelings  kindred  to  awe.  There  is  a  sublimity  in 
passion,  which  even  the  coldest  natures  are  constrained  to  ac 
knowledge.  He  felt  himself  baffled,  resisted.  He  had  ex 
pected  to  intimidate,  by  an  unwonted  exercise  of  power.  He 
was  himself  controlled  by  an  influence  he  could  not  under 
stand.  Once  before,  he  had  bowed  before  this  young  girl's 
will,  when  he  would  have  compelled  her  to  accept  the  addresses 
of  Pellam,  for  whom  she  cherished  the  most  sovereign  scorn. 
Like  Acre's  valour,  he  felt  his  authority  oozing  gradually  away, 
having  effected  nothing  but  a  few  blustering  and  pompous 
speeches.  Florence  saw  and  triumphed  in  her  power,  but  she 
was  too  generous  to  do  it  openly. 

"Am  I  released,  uncle?"  asked  she,  with  a  sweet,  exacting 
emile.  "It  is  so  long  since  I  have  seen  George." 

"I  see  it  is  useless  to  detain  you,"  he  answered.  "I  have 
fulfilled  my  duty  conscientiously  and  irreproachably.  If  you 
are  indeed  beyond  my  authority,  and  reject  my  counsels,  you 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  179 

must  abide  by  the  consequences,  whatever  they  may  be.  But 
be  assured  of  one  thing,  niece,  I  never  will  give  my  consent 
to  an  ill-assorted  marriage, — never." 

11  It  never  shall  be  asked,  uncle,  be  assured  by  me/'  cried 
she ;  "  never.  And  now,  if  you  are  tired  of  my  company,  I 
will  not  detain  you,  for,  if  you  please,  I  would  rather  remain 
here  for  the  present." 

Seating  herself  on  the  window-seat,  she  veiled  her  face  with 
the  curtain,  while  her  uncle  walked  into  the  parlour  with  slow 
and  creaking  steps.  Marcus  and  Delaval  were  walking  in  the 
piazza,  impatient  for  the  termination  of  the  conference.  The 
library  window  opened  into  the  piazza,  and  the  moment  they 
saw  the  dark  ringlets  twisted  with  the  scarlet  folds,  they 
eagerly  approached.  There  was  a  bench  outside  of  the  win 
dow,  on  which  they  seated  themselves,  while  Florence  sat 
within,  the  lamp-light  behind  her,  the  starry  heavens  before 
her,  with  certain  living  stars  mingling  their  beams  with  those 
that  glittered  in  the  sky. 

"  So  you  liked  the  north,"  said  she,  addressing  both.  "  You 
became  naturalized,  acclimated,  domesticated  there.  You 
have  returned,  I  know,  with  divided  hearts.  How  many  times 
have  I  been  wishing  for  a  pair  of  fairy  wings  to  bear  me  to 
the  top  of  those  empurpled  mountains,  to  the  banks  of  that 
magnificent  river,  and  more  than  all,  to  the  charming  home 
of  that  dear,  delightful  Judge  Cleveland.  Did  you  tell  him 
you  had  a  sister,  who  had  fallen  irretrievably,  inextricably  in 
love  with  him  from  a  two-fold  description  ?  I  think  you  said 
Mrs.  Cleveland  was  a  frail,  delicate  woman/' 

"  Most  inveterately  healthy  and  invariably  charming,  and 
intensely  devoted  to  her  excellent  husband,"  answered  Dela 
val.  "  The  North  is  a  glorious  country.  I  honour  its  institu 
tions,  I  respect  its  inhabitants,  and  love  even  its  snows  and 
icicles;  but  better  do  I  love  the  soft  and  dewy  South.  I 
would  not  exchange  its  balmy  blossoms  for  the  diamond  icicles 
of  the  North,  nor  its  genial  gales  for  the  Hyperborean 
blasts." 


180  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

"  You  had  some  strong  prejudices  to  encounter,"  said  Flo 
rence.  "  I  hope  you  always  wielded  victorious  weapons." 

"Here  stands  the  champion  of  the  South,"  said  Delaval, 
laying  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  Marcus.  "  I  wonder  his 
laurels  do  not  smother  him.  The  clouds  of  prejudice  have 
rolled  away  before  the  sun-bursts  of  his  eloquence,  as  the 
mists  of  the  valley  before  the  rising  day." 

"  Do  not  make  a  noble  cause  ridiculous  by  exaggeration," 
cried  Marcus,  "  or  give  me  all  the  laurels,  which  should,  by 
right,  be  divided  between  us.  I  think  we  have  both  done 
much  towards  dissipating  erroneous  opinions,  cherished  toward 
our  southern  institutions.  It  is  astonishing  how  little  is  really 
known  of  our  domestic  manners  and  relations,  when  so  many 
northerners  live  and  dwell  among  us  ;  and  it  is  surprising,  too, 
that  while  the  sons  and  daughters  of  the  North  are  scattered 
all  over  our  genial  soil,  deriving  wealth  and  happiness  from 
its  fertile  bosom,  so  few  children  of  the  South  plant  them 
selves  on  the  granite  hills  of  New  England.  They  go,  as  we 
have  done,  to  drink  of  the  thousand  streams  of  knowledge  that 
flow  from  their  fountain-heads  of  science  and  literature ;  but 
having  quenched  their  thirst  and  invigorated  their  spirits,  they 
return  once  more  to  the  well-springs  of  the  heart  that  gush  forth 
to  meet  them,  in  their  own  fair  sunny  land." 

While  Marcus  was  speaking,  Delaval  had  risen  and  sauntered 
down  the  gravel  walk,  picking  up  the  white  pebbles  that  glim 
mered  in  the  star-light,  and  throwing  them  across  the  dewy 
grass.  One  would  have  supposed,  from  his  careless  motions, 
that  he  scarcely  knew  of  what  he  was  thinking ;  but  he  was 
well  aware  of  the  subject  of  his  thoughts.  If  he  looked  up  to 
the  deep  blue  of  the  night-arch,  it  reminded  him  of  the  sap 
phire  eyes  of  Katy ;  if  he  noticed  the  boughs  of  the  Acacia 
ewaying  in  the  breeze,  it  recalled  her  graceful  figure  floating 
on  the  music  of  the  dance.  The  roseate  daughters  of  the 
North,  charming  as  they  were,  had  not  won  his  allegiance 
from  the  blue-eyed  maiden,  with  the  magnolia  cheek  and  the 
willowy  eye-lash. 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  181 

In  the  mean  time  Marcus  and  Florence  continued  their 
conversation,  by  the  shadow  of  the  curtain,  and  it  seemed  to 
deepen  in  interest,  for  he  lowered  his  voice  and  bowed  his 
head,  till  his  bright  locks  mingled  with  her  jetty  ringlets,  and 
his  breath  lingered  on  the  roses  of  her  cheek.  He  told  her  of 
his  plans  for  the  future,  his  hopes  and  expectations.  He 
spoke  not  of  fears — he  knew  them  not.  He  was  resolved  to 
give  no  rest  to  body  or  mind,  till  he  had  discovered  the  man 
who  had  defrauded  his  benefactor,  and  forced  him  to  liquidate 
the  debts,  whose  burden  he  had  imposed  upon  another.  This 
was  a  holy  duty — a  duty  of  gratitude,  he  had  bound  himself 
by  a  vow  to. perform.  He  had  no  doubt  of  success. 

"I  can  find  him — I  will — if  God  spare  my  life,"  he  added ] 
"  and  then  I  shall  seek  for  that  spot,  on  this  broad,  green 
earth,  the  Creator  has  marked  out  as  the  vineyard  of  my  soul. 
When  the  vintage  is  ripe,  and  I  have  trodden,  a  little  time, 
the  wine-press  in  my  own  strength,  I  will  build  a  bower  for 
my  beloved,  where  I  can  rest  with  her,  when  weary  of  the 
heat  and  burden  of  the  day.  It  must  be  a  beautiful  bower, 
covered  with  flowering  vines  and  wreathing  foliage,  sheltered 
bravely  from  sun  and  wind,  before  I  can  ask  her  to  share  it 
with  me." 

"  Supposing  she  has  already  a  bower  of  her  own,  all  covered 
with  blossoms  and  bonny-spreading  shrubs,"  answered  Florence, 
blushing  at  her  own  ingenuousness ;  "  why  not  let  it  furnish 
a  shelter  for  you,  from  the  winds  and  storms  of  life,  instead 
of  roaming  for  a  fairer  spot,  which  perchance  you  might 
never  find  ?" 

"No,  Florence — noble,  frank-hearted  girl  that  you  are. 
No,  L'e"clair.  Knowing  myself  to  be  as  high  above  all  mer 
cenary  motives  as  the  heavens  are  above  the  earth,  and  be 
lieving  in  my  power  to  win  your  affections  and  secure  youi 
happiness,  I  have  loved  and  wooed  you — you,  a  wealthy  heir 
ess — and  I,  with  naught  but  what  nature  and  education  have 
bestowed.  So  certain  am  I  of  being  able  to  offer  you  inde 
pendence  and  an  honourable  name,  if  life  and  health  remain, 


182  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

that  I  have  not  the  selfishness  to  wish  you  poor  that  I  may 
prove  my  disinterestedness  and  my  love.  The  time  will  come, 
when  even  your  haughty  uncle  will  deem  it  no  derogation 
of  his  dignity  to  seek  the  hand  now  clasping  your  own." 

"  I  believe  it — I  know  it,  Marcus,"  said  Florence.  "It  is 
this  full,  glad  consciousness  of  your  own  powers  that  triumphed 
over  my  despotic  will.  Were  you  timid  and  distrustful,  I 
should  still  be  the  haughty,  capricious  damsel,  who  sprinkled 
your  fair  locks  at  the  brink  of  the  fountain." 

The  mild  aspect  of  the  summer-night  tempted  them  abroad, 
and  they  followed  Delaval  down  the  gravel  walk.  Two  beau 
tiful  trees  clasped  their  green  hands  over  the  gate,  and  seemed 
to  toss  up  the  young  moon,  that  hung  in  argent  beauty  just 
between  them.  The  songs  of  the  negroes  were  wafted  to 
their  ears,  mingling  with  the  soft,  dreamy  buzz  of  the  insect 
world  in  the  air.  It  is  not  strange,  as  Marcus  was  to  leave 
by  morning  light,  that  they  lingered  till  the  silver  crescent 
was  seen  high  up,  in  the  darkening  dome  of  midnight. 

The  next  morning  Florence  found  the  following  lines,  in  one 
of  the  folds  of  the  crimson  curtain.  They  might  have  been 
blown  there,  by  the  breeze'  of  night,  for  she  had  forgotten  to 
close  the  window  of  the  library : 

"  When  o'er  youth's  morning  sky  I  saw 

The  arrowy  Lightning  play, 

My  spirit  owned  th'  electric  law, 

And  mingled  with  its  ray. 

The  stellar  glory  of  the  night, 

Its  lunar  beams  how  cold ! 
I  worshipp'd — but  the  crimson  light 

The  thunder-clouds  enfold. 

But  now  methinks  yon  silver  bow 

A  fairer  type  of  thee, 
Who  swayest  passion's  ocean  flow, 

As  the  sweet  moon  the  sea. 

Like  her,  thou  shinest  on  my  soul — 

How  high  the  rushing  tide  ! 
But,  far  from  thy  divine  control, 

The  swelling  waves  subside. 

Thou  waxing  glory  of  my  night, 

Unlike  yon  silver  bow, 
Thou  shalt  emit  perennial  light, 

Nor  change  nor  waning  know." 


THE  LONG  MOSS  SPRING;  183 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Te  go— but  I  follow — for  fleet  is  my  steed, 

The  wings  of  the  wind  scarce  outstripping  its  speed, 

"With  the  eye  of  the  eagle  thy  covert  I'll  ken, 

I  fear  not  thy  strength,  nor  thy  strong,  merry  men. — ANON. 

MARCUS  arrived  at  Hickory  Hill,  and  all  the  shadows  that 
had  been  gathering  over  it  seemed  to  flee  before  the  sunshine 
of  his  presence.  To  the  black  as  well  as  the  white,  it  was  a 
jubilee  of  the  heart,  for  Marcus  was  a  favourite  of  all,  and 
Milly,  as  she  looked  upon  him  with  the  signet  of  manhood  on 
his  brow,  felt  as  if  the  ancient  honours  of  their  house  were  all 
restored  in  him.  She  was  elated  too  by  the  prospects  of  her 
young  mistress,  for  Katy,  in  the  simplicity  of  her  young  and 
loving  nature,  had  not  been  able  to  conceal  from  this  faithful 
friend  the  secret  of  her  heart.  When  she  had  read  to  her  pas 
sages  from  her  brother's  letters,  Milly's  cunning  eye  could 
always  detect  another  letter  partially  concealed  in  the  throb 
bing  bosom,  whose  pulsations  it  hurried,  and  she  overheard 
Marcus  telling  his  sister  that  he  was  coming  very  soon.  "  Yes, 
sweet  Katy,"  said  he,  "  he  bid  me  say,  that  before  the  bud  of 
the  rose  should  open  and  fade,  he  would  be  where  his  heart 
already  is." 

"  And  now,"  muttered  Milly  to  herself,  while  she  busied 
herself  with  the  work,  "  Miss  Katy  will  soon  ride  in  her  car 
riage,  just  as  mistress  used  to  do  'fore  ole  master  drank  up  all 
his  money  and  'sessions.  Young  master,  that  Miss  Katy  loves, 
got  a  heap  of  property,  I  knows,  and  Milly  will  live  with  her 
young  mistress,  and  wait  on  her,  and  nuss  her  childer  may-be, 
as  she  did  her,  for  childer  are  like  olive  plants,  all  polished  in 
the  corner,  as  good  ole  Simon  used  to  say." 

But  Katy  thought  not  of  fine  carriages  or  fine  houses.  She 
thought  only  of  the  generous  heart  given  in  exchange  for  her 
own.  She  was  happy  in  the  consciousness  of  being  beloved 
and  of  loving.  Were  Delaval  poor,  with  nothing  but  a  log 
cabin  to  offer  her,  she  would  have  felt  equally  happy,  perhapa 


184  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

more  so,  for  in  her  lowly  self-estimate  gratitude  was  as  strong 
as  her  love.  Far  different  was  she  from  Marcus.  The  con 
trast  in  their  characters  was  visible  in  their  countenances. 
"While  her  glance,  in  soft  humility,  usually  sought  the  ground, 
his,  with  eagle  ambition,  was  naturally  lifted  towards  the  sun. 
He  felt  no  gratitude  to  Florence,  because  she  being  an  heiress 
loved  him  for  himself  alone.  His  love  enriched  her,  as  well 
as  hers  him.  It  was  not  the  heiress  he  loved,  but  the  being, 
all  heart  and  soul ;  and  the  mere  accident  of  her  wealth  weighed 
nothing  in  the  estimation  of  her  worth.  Were  he  master  of 
millions,  he  would  not  be  elevated  in  his  own  opinion ;  were 
he  utterly  destitute,  he  would  not  be  degraded.  When  a  boy, 
he  had  learned  to  separate  himself  from  outward  conditions ; 
to  look  upon  himself  as  a  God-endowed,  though  man-neglected 
child.  He  had  felt  more  proud  of  his  heaven-born  riches, 
when  he  wove  his  osier  baskets,  by  the  blaze  of  a  light-wood 
knot,  than  when  the  oaken  garland  was  cast  at  his  feet  mid 
the  thundering  plaudits  of  an  admiring  audience. 

With  the  promptitude  and  energy  that  marked  his  character, 
he  resolved  to  take  immediate  measures  for  the  discovery  and 
apprehension  of  the  traitorous  and  fugitive  Arnold.  He  saw 
the  cloud  of  anxiety  on  the  usually  serene  brow  of  Mr.  Bella 
my,  and  he  rejoiced  to  think  that  he  might  be  the  instrument 
to  disperse  it.  Wait !  No,  that  was  impossible.  He  was  no 
longer  a  boy  to  care  for  holiday  pleasures.  He  was  a  man, 
ready  to  fulfil  manhood's  loftiest  duties.  And  then  he  had  his 
own  vineyard  to  cultivate,  his  bower  to  build ;  not  in  the  val 
ley,  but  on  the  table-land  of  the  mountain  top,  in  the  full 
warmth  and  splendour  of  an  equatorial  latitude.  He  had 
marked  out  his  work,  and  he  had  not  only  the  mind  to  conceive, 
but  the  spirit  to  sustain,  the  heart  to  encourage,  and  the  hand 
to  execute. 

With  indefatigable  zeal  he  collected  all  the  documents  ne 
cessary  to  invest  him  as  agent  plenipotentiary  for  his  benefac 
tor  He  visited  the  most  distinguished  lawyers,  obtained  the 
most,  powerful  judicial  advice,  and  made  himself  master  of  the 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  185 

subject  in  all  its  bearings  and  relations.  He  had  a  certainty 
that  Arnold  had  directed  his  course  to  Texas,  then  the  lone- 
star  in  the  national  firmament,  towards  which  the  eyes  of  out 
laws  and  criminals  were  turned  as  the  orb  of  hope  and  pro 
mise.  He  had  heard  of  several  farmers  who  had  sold  their 
plantations,  believing  they  had  exhausted  the  riches  of  the 
soil,  and  removed  to  the  luxuriant,  and  as  yet  uncultivated 
lands  fertilized  by  the  waters  of  the  Colorado.  To  Texas  he 
determined  to  bend  his  course,  and  when  every  thing  was  pre 
pared,  one  fine,  bright,  inspiring  morning,  mounted  on  a  spirited 
horse,  with  a  green  blanket  and  well-filled  valise  strapped  on 
behind  him,  and  an  ample  supply  of  money  about  his  person, 
he  commenced  his  expedition.  The  ferryman's  cabin  lay  right 
in  his  path,  and  Marcus  was  not  sorry  to  visit  once  more  the 
scene  of  the  stern  discipline  of  his  boyhood. 

Once  more  the  sweet  murmuring  voice  of  the  Long  Moss 
Spring  welcomed  him  to  its  margin.  Once  more  the  splendid- 
leaved  magnolia  swept  its  boughs  over  his  head,  while  its  mag 
nificent  blossoms  unfolded  their  waxen  bosoms  to  the  air,  and 
perfumed  it  with  their  intense  odours.  The  feathery  moss 
still  curled  over  the  bed  of  the  fountain,  green  in  the  sunshine, 
blue  in  the  shade;  and  pure  and  white  gleamed  the  rocks 
through  the  clear,  gurgling  waters.  As  Marcus  gazed  around 
with  that  fullness  of  heart  this  scene  ever  caused,  he  beheld, 
not  far  from  the  spot  where  he  stood,  a  mound,  covered  with 
grassy  turf,  of  that  peculiar  oblong  form  which  indicates  the 
last  resting-place  of  man.  He  remembered  his  friend,  the 
aged  Simon,  whom  two  years  before  he  had  seen  bowed  over  the 
fountain's  edge,  and  he  was  sure  he  was  slumbering  in  that 
quiet  bed.  While  he  stood  with  pensive  brow  and  folded 
arms,  looking  down  on  the  green  sward,  the  ferryman's  wife, 
the  same  woman  who  had  lent  him  the  blanket,  and  assisted  in 
ferrying  the  boat  over  the  moon-lighted  waves,  approached  the 
fountain,  with  a  wooden  bucket,  poised  in  the  African  style,  on 
her  uncovered  head.  She  started  at  the  sudden  apparition, 
but  soon  recognised  the  handsome  youth,  who  had  seemed  so 


186  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

like  an  angel  to  her,  slumbering  in  the  moonbeams.  After 
having  greeted  her  with  his  wonted  courtesy,  he  questioned 
her  about  his  old  African  friend,  and  learned  that  he  indeed 
slept  his  last  sleep  near  the  murmurs  of  the  fountain,  whose 
music  had  so  often  soothed  his  aged  ears.  He  was  found  dead 
by  the  side  of  the  spring,  with  his  face  turned  towards  the 
waving  moss,  as  if  his  soul  went  floating  down  the  silver  cur 
rent  into  the  neighbouring  river,  and  thence  into  the  great 
ocean  of  eternity.  It  had  been  his  reiterated  request  to  be 
interred  near  that  spot,  and  the  scene  of  his  death  became  the 
place  of  his  burial. 

"  I  didn't  mind  it  at  first,"  said  the  woman,  "  for  I  didn't 
know  how  lonely  it  would  make  the  place  seem.  But  now, 
when  I  come  down  at  night  for  water,  I  dare  not  look  on  that 
grave,  and  yet  I  see  it  all  the  time.  I  hurry  back  as  fast  as  I 
can,  and  then  I  hear  old  Simon  hobbling  behind  me  all  the 
way." 

"  Poor  old  Simon  !"  exclaimed  Marcus,  with  glistening  eyes. 
"You  need  have  no  fears  of  him.  He  was  a  true-hearted 
Christian,  with  a  soul  as  white  as  that  snowy  basin.  As  sure 
as  there  is  a  heaven,  where  suffering  man  finds  rest,  he  has 
found  admittance  there.  He  is  no  restless  ghost  to  inspire 
terror  in  those  he  has  left  behind." 

"  Some  time  before  he  died,"  said  the  ferryman's  wife,  "  he 
gave  me  a  little  packet,  wrapped  in  buckskin,  sewed  up  tightly 
all  round,  which  he  wanted  me  to  give  to  you,  whenever  you 
came  this  way,  for  a  woman  named  Milly.  I'm  glad  you've 
come,  for  I  kind  of  hated  to  keep  it.  Dead  folks  property  is 
a  mighty  sacred  thing ;  when  it  is  fastened  up  so  close,  too,  it 
seems  more  particular." 

While  she  went  to  the  cabin  to  get  the  mysterious  packet, 
Marcus  indulged  his  sincere  and  heartfelt  sorrow  over  the  grave 
of  this  devoted  friend  of  his  desolate  years.  How  short  a  time 
it  seemed  since  he,  a  mere  boy,  sat  at  his  side,  watching  him 
peel  the  bark  from  the  smooth  willows  with  his  wrinkled  hands, 
while  he  dropped  luminous  texts  of  scripture  into  the  listening 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  187 

* 

ears  of  Milly,  or  sang  with  growing  enthusiasm,  "  The  old 
ship  of  Zion,  glory,  hallelujah." 

There  was  a  smooth  white  stone  lying  close  to  the  grave, 
such  as  formed  the  basis  of  the  fountain.  Marcus  knelt  down, 
and  taking  his  penknife,  carved  the  name  of  the  old  soldier  on 
its  yielding  surface ;  then  placing  it  at  the  head  of  the  grave, 
he  pressed  the  earth  against  it,  to  prevent  it  from  falling.  He 
felt  an  irresistible  desire  to  consecrate  the  spot  by  some  act 
of  memory,  some  token  of  human  friendship.  The  ferryman's 
wife  returned  while  he  was  engaged  in  this  touching  rite  of 
remembrance  to  the  lowly  negro,  and  she  thought  that  she 
should  never  again  fear  to  approach  it,  even  in  the  darknesg 
of  midnight.  In  silence  she  placed  the  packet  in  his  hand, 
then,  when  he  turned  away,  she  said, — 

"  There  is  a  wild  rose-bush  yonder ;  if  you  like,  I  will  plant 
it  by  that  stone,  and  I  will  see  that  it  does  not  fall.  If  the 
moss  should  grow  over  it,  I  will  clear  it  away  from  the  name 
you  have  cut." 

"  God  bless  you,"  exclaimed  Marcus ;  "  you  have  a  feeling 
heart;  I  honour  you  for  it.  Yes,"  added  he,  to  himself,  as 
he  led  his  horse  toward  the  ferry-boat,  which  had  just  reached 
the  shore,  "  this  woman  has  native  refinement  and  sensibility. 
I  am  glad  she  dwells  near  my  beloved  spring.  There  is  some 
thing  in  its  placid,  silvery  beauty,  in  its  deep  continuous 
music,  that  creates  responsive  beauty  in  the  heart  that  is  bathed 
in  it.  I  never  approach  it  without  feeling  my  immortality, 
my  eternity.  My  father's  soul,  after  going  through  a  baptism 
of  fire,  here  found  the  river  of  life.  Poor  old  Simon,  no 
doubt,  here  held  communion  with  the  Great  Invisible,  whose 
image  he  beheld  in  the  far  depths  of  the  waters.  Beautiful 
fountain  of  my  boyhood !"  continued  he,  casting  one  more 
backward  glance,  as  he  stood  on  the  brink  of  the  river.  "My 
being  seems  coeval  with  thine ;  I  listen  to  tny  murmurs,  and 
feel  as  if  I  had  forever  heard  them  sighing,  breathing,  mingling 
with  my  soul ;  I  watch  thee  swelling,  flowing  onward,  onward 
— never  wearying,  never  pausing ;  full,  exhaustless,  deep,  and 


188  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

clear;  and  I  feel  as  if  thus  my  existence  had  ever  been  flow 
ing  onward,  onward,  and  ever  would  flow,  as  long  as  God's 
eternal  days  shall  last.  Oh  !  when  I  have  realized  the  lofty 
dreams  of  my  ambition, — when  my  spirit  has  wrestled,  and 
battled,  and  triumphed  in  the  conflict  with  the  stormy  elements 
of  the  world,  let  me  come  and  bathe  my  thirsty  lips  in  thy 
Bweet  tranquillizing  wave ;  and  when,  like  the  time-worn 
African,  I  lay  my  head  on  the  clay-cold  bosom  of  our  general 
mother,  may  thy  lone,  mysterious  accents  breathe  forth  my 
requiem,  and  thy  silver  gushings  beautify  the  place  of  my 
repose." 

Lost  in  his  meditations,  he  had  not  observed  that  the  ferry 
man's  wife  was  assisting  her  husband  in  urging  the  boat  across 
the  river.  But  the  moment  he  became  aware  of  this  circum 
stance,  he  grasped  the  pole,  though  she  laughingly  endeavoured 
to  retain  it. 

"And  thou,  rejoicing  river!"  thought  he,  bending  over 
and  watching  the  resisting  waters  gurgling  and  foaming  round 
the  opposing  staff,  "  thou,  too,  seemest  a  part  of  my  own  exist 
ence.  Strong  and  glad  and  triumphant  like  thee,  I  go  on  my 
course,  receiving  tributary  streams  of  strength  from  all  things 
around  me  and  about  me.  The  breeze  that  rimples  thy  sur 
face  moves  over  and  refreshes  the  stream  of  my  thoughts,  and 
the  sunbeams  that  flash  on  thy  ripples  play  and  sparkle  over 
my  spirit's  restless  waves.  We  are  one,  0  rejoicing  river; 
we  ever  have  been,  and  ever  shall  be  one." 

When  he  had  landed,  shaken  hands  with  the  woman,  whose 
promise  about  the  rose-bush  had  raised  her  so  much  in  the 
scale  of  being,  and  ascended  the  steep  bank,  he  felt  as  if  he 
were  at  the  starting  point  of  his  journey.  He  girded  himself 
anew  for  the  enterprise,  watching,  with  Indian  sagacity,  every 
thing  that  could  indicate  the  route  of  the  fugitives.  He  had 
made  inquiries  of.  the  ferryman,  but  they  had  elicited  no  in 
formation. 

The  weather  was  mild  and  clear,  and  as  he  swept  along 
through  the  pine  woods,  inhaling  their  healthy  and  inspiring 


THE  LONG  MOSS   SPRING.  189 

odour,  catching  glimpses  of  the  effulgent  blue  of  the  heavens 
through  the  green  dome  above,  and  here  and  there  the  spark 
ling  of  bright  waters  by  the  wayside,  and  the  flow  of  the  run 
nel  across  his  path,  he  felt  the  joy  of  a  young  traveller,  and 
thought  himself  incapable  of  fatigue.  But  when  after  several 
days  continuous  riding,  without  having  met  any  adventure,  or 
any  clue  by  which  he  could  direct  his  course,  his  buoyant 
spirits  began  to  lose  a  little  of  their  elasticity.  It  was  proba 
bly  owing  to  the  electricity  gathering  in  the  clouds  that  rolled 
round  the  setting  sun,  and  deepened  the  gloom  of  the  twilight 
hour.  Many  who,  like  Marcus,  have  their  beings  charged 
with  the  electric  fluid,  feel,  on  the  approach  of  a  thunder 
storm,  as  if  it  were  withdrawn  from  themselves  to  give  power 
and  destructiveness  to  the  elements,  an  oppression,  an  attraction 
toward  the  earth  painful  and  irresistible.  Marcus  was  wont 
to  associate  the  idea  of  Florence  with  the  lightning's  flash,  and 
he  always  hailed  its  coruscations  with  rapture, — but,  as  she 
herself  had  told  him,  it  was  rather  the  lambent  glory  that 
sports  silently  on  the  horizon's  edge,  than  the  blaze  that  heralds 
the  thunder's  crash,  that  was  the  emblem  of  the  electric  L' eclair. 
Deep  into  the  night  he  rode  through  the  gathering  storm,  for 
the  place  to  which  he  had  been  directed  for  shelter  was  still 
far  ahead,  and  he  began  to  think  he  had  turned  into  the  wrong 
road.  At  length  his  horse,  dazzled  and  scared  by  the  light 
ning,  stopped  short,  and  refused  to  proceed.  He  perceived, 
at  the  same  time,  a  hut,  a  little  removed  from  the  wayside, 
which  he  thought  might  furnish  shelter  for  the  night.  He 
could  see  a  gleam  of  light  through  the  wooden  shutters,  and 
concluded  that  it  was  inhabited ;  so,  obeying  the  instincts  of  the 
horse  rather  than  his  own,  he  dismounted,  and  led  the  animal 
toward  the  hovel,  guided  by  the  lightning's  flash.  Fastening 
his  horse  under  the  stoup  that  projected  toward  the  road,  he 
opened  the  door  and  looked  round  the  dark,  unfurnished  apart 
ment,  that  was  partially  illumined  by  a  flickering  blaze  in  the 
chimney.  A  frame,  which  was  probably  erected  for  a  bed 
stead,  stood  on  one  side  j  a  pile  of  old  planks  was  placed  diago- 


190  MARCUS   WARLANDJ    OR, 

ually  resting  against  the  front  and  one  end  of  the  building, 
and  all  the  shadows  gathered  in  the  vacuum  behind  this  rude 
rampart.  Marcus  gazed  with  surprise  on  the  fire  burning  on 
the  lone  hearth,  the  only  sign  of  inhabitancy  in  the  desolate 
place.  Perhaps  some  traveller  had  paused  and  lighted  that 
blaze  to  cook  a  hasty  meal,  hurrying  away  from  the  storm  that 
had  so  long  seemed  muttering  behind.  This  idea  was  con 
firmed  by  a  crust  of  bread  and  morsel  of  sweet  potato  lying  on 
the  hearth.  Marcus  threw  another  knot  on  the  blaze,  and 
spreading  his  blanket  on  the  boards,  while  his  valise  served 
him  as  a  pillow,  he  soon  slept  the  sound  sleep  of  the  youthful 
traveller,  though  the  rain  drifted  in  torrents  against  the  roof, 
and  the  thunders  shook  the  timbers,  and  rattled  the  dust  from 
the  rafters. 

"  Ha  I"  exclaimed  the  sleeper,  suddenly  wakened  by  the 
falling  of  his  head  against  the  boards.  "  Ha  I"  springing  up 
on  his  feet  and  making  the  old  planks  ring  by  the  rebound. 
The  pine-knot  still  sparkled  with  an  intermitting  light,  and  he 
could  see,  for  his  vision  was  clear,  a  black  spectre  leaping  to 
ward  the  door  with  his  valise  in  his  hand.  While  it  was 
fumbling  for  the  latch,  Marcus,  darting  after  it,  imprisoned 
its  arms  with  a  grasp  that  made  it  cry  out  lustily  for  mercy." 

"  Oh  !  master — Lord  a  mercy — mercy  !  Please  let  go.  I 
jist  went  to  see  what  you  had  for  pillow,"  cried  the  negro, 
his  teeth  chattering  with  terror,  for  Marcus  had  the  strength 
of  a  young  lion,  and  his  gripe  was  like  steel  on  his  muscles. 

"  You  were  taking  it  out  of  doors  to  look  at  it,  were  you  ?" 
said  Marcus,  smiling  at  the  terrified  countenance  of  the  negro, 
on  which  the  fitful  blaze  made  fantastic  lights  and  shadows. 
"  Come  this  way,  and  let  me  see  what  you  are." 

Dragging  him,  unresisting,  toward  the  hearth,  he  perused 
the  coal-black  face,  in  which  the  eyes  were  revolving  with  in 
conceivable  rapidity.  There  was  a  long,  deep  scar  on  the 
right  side  of  the  forehead,  which  gave  a  peculiar  expression  to 
the  orb  beneath.  There  was  something  in  the  face,  the  scar, 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  191 

the  facial  angle,  that  gave  him  a  vague  and  troubled  feeling 
of  remembrance. 

"Hector!"  involuntarily  fell  from  his  lips — "Laughing 
Hector." 

"  Yes,  that  be  me,"  said  the  trembling  negro.  "  Oh !  Lord, 
how  you  know  my  name,  master  ?" 

"  Did  you  ever  have  a  master  by  the  name  of  Warland  ?" 

"  Yes,  master,  that  I  did.  Good  master,  too ;  but  he  fell  a 
drinking ;  then  he  sell  his  coloured  people.  You  know  him, 
master  ?" 

"  Hector,  would  you  rob  your  own  master's  son  ?  Would 
you  rob  the  son  of  your  mistress,  now  laid  in  the  grave  ?" 

"  Little  master  Marcus  !"  exclaimed  the  African,  his  sable 
features  lighted  with  a  gleam  of  recognition.  "You  don't 
say  so.  Grown  so  fine  and  strong,  too,"  rubbing  his  aching 
arm.  "  Oh  !  young  master,  pray  forgib  Hector ;  he  no  know 
it  be  you.  He  jist  wanted  to  look — to  see — a" 

"  Never  mind,  Hector.  I  hope  you  will  have  more  respect 
for  the  next  traveller  you  chance  to  meet,  or  you  may  fare 
worse  than  you  do  now.  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  have  forgot 
ten  your  commandments,  Hector.  If  I  recollect  right,  my 
mother  taught  them  to  you." 

"Yes,  I  think  she  did;  long  time  ago,  though." 

"  I  am  afraid  your  present  master  and  mistress  do  not  set 
jou  a  good  example.  Who  is  your  master  ?" 

Hector  rubbed  his  head,  with  a  perplexed  air. 

"  I  got  no  master  jist  now ;  I  run  away." 

"  Bad  case,  Hector.     But  what  is  his  name  ?" 

"  Master  Arnold,  he  calls  him." 

Marcus  felt  his  blood  bound  in  his  veins.  Providence  had 
directed  him  to  that  lone  hovel.  The  lightning's  flash  was 
the  flaming  beacon  to  guide  his  track.  That  he  should  dis 
cover  an  old  family-servant,  though  in  the  equivocal  act  of 
robbing  him,  was  a  most  interesting  incident ;  that  he  should 
be  escaping  from  the  very  man  of  whom  he  was  in  search 
himself,  and  to  whom  he  could  certainly  direct  him,  was  in- 


192  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

deed  providential.  Seating  himself  on  the  wooden  frame,  hs 
drew  from  Hector  a  clear  statement  of  all  he  was  most  desirous 
to  learn.  As  we  can  probably  give  it  in  fewer  words  than  the 
African,  we  will  explain  to  the  reader  all  he  repeated  to  Marcus. 

Arnold  was  indeed  bound  for  Texas,  as  Marcus  had  sup 
posed — what  particular  locality  he  had  selected,  the  negro 
could  not  tell.  He  had  sent  on  detachments  of  his  slaves,  un 
der  the  charge  of  overseers,  at  different  times  before  his  de 
parture,  and  they  were  all  to  meet  somewhere  on  this  side  of 
the  Mississippi  river.  Sickness  had  broken  out  among  them, 
so  that  they  had  been  detained  on  their  journey,  and  there 
had  been  an  evident  spirit  of  rebellion  among  the  negroes, 
who  most  of  them  had  been  compelled  to  sunder  some  tie  of 
nature  or  of  love.  Hector,  who  had  pleaded  hard  with  his 
master  to  purchase  his  wife,  so  that  she  might  accompany  him, 
and  had  been  coldly  refused,  started  with  hard  and  vindictive 
feelings,  and  a  determination  to  run  away  the  first  moment 
he  could  elude  the  vigilance  of  his  master.  This  he  had  done 
two  nights  before.  He  had  sought  refuge  in  the  ruined  hut 
from  the  terrors  of  the  thunder-storm,  where  he  had  kindled  a 
blaze  and  eaten  the  food  some  pitying  slave  had  given  him  on 
the  way.  He  had  heard  Marcus  fastening  his  horse  under  the 
gtoup,  and  concealed  himself  behind  the  planks,  where  he 
crouched  till  the  young  traveller  was  asleep,  when  "  old  Satan 
tempted,"  he  said,  "  to  see  what  young  master  got  in  his  pil 
low."  Marcus  resolved  to  write  to  Mr.  Bellamy,  and  inform 
him  of  the  discovery  he  had  made,  and  to  send  Hector  imme 
diately  to  Hickory  Hill  with  the  letter.  He  had  no  reliance 
on  his  fidelity ;  but  as  his  wife  lived  in  that  vicinity,  and  as  he 
assured  him  that  Mr.  Bellamy  would  reward  him  liberally,  ho 
hoped  the  intelligence  would  reach  his  benefactor,  and  relieve 
him  of  much  anxiety.  He  gave  Hector  money  to  lift  him 
above  the  temptation  of  stealing,  and  a  written  passport, 
which  he  might  exhibit,  if  arrested  on  his  way. 

The  storm  had  now  subsided,  and  the  thunder,  low  and  sul 
len,  rolled  at  an  immeasurable  distance.  Too  much  excited 


THE  LONG  MOSS   SPRING.  193 

to  think  of  sleep,  Marcus  resolved  to  push  on,  after  having 
made  Hector  again  repeat  every  minutia  connected  with  the 
route  he  was  to  take.  Hector,  imitating  the  zeal  and  energy 
of  the  young  man,  determined  to  plunge  out  into  the  night 
also,  thinking  it  better  for  a  runaway  to  rest  at  noon  in  the 
deep  woods,  and  avail  himself  of  the  curtain  of  darkness  to 
speed  his  flight. 

"  Now,  Hector,"  said  Marcus,  as  they  turned  in  opposite 
directions,  "  be  faithful  to  your  trust,  as  you  hope  for  a  liberal 
reward ;  and  if  you  fall  in  with  a  sleeping  traveller,  have  a  little 
more  respect  for  his  head  than  you  had  for  mine,  and  not  de 
prive  it  quite  so  suddenly  of  a  pillow.  I  really  think  there 
must  be  a  contusion  here,"  added  he,  passing  his  hand  laugh 
ingly  over  the  back  of  his  head. 

"I  think  there  'tusion  on  my  arm,  young  master,"  an 
swered  Hector,  shrugging  his  shoulders;  "but  me  no  right  to 
complain.  Me  take  great  liberty,  sure  enough.  Good-by, 
master.  Give  my  best  'spects  to  master  Arnold,  when  you 
see  him." 

The  mocking  laugh  of  the  runaway  rang  through  the  damp 
air.  Marcus  remembered  that  laugh,  though  he  had  not  heard 
it  since  he  was  a  very  little  boy.  Such  a  laugh  never  issued 
before  from  human  lungs — so  loud,  so  long,  so  voluminous,  it 
burst  from  the  mouth  like  a  cannon-ball,  and  went  rolling 
into  space,  echoing  as  it  went,  gathering  sound  and  force, 
when  suddenly  it  ceased,  checked  at  once  in  mid- volley.  This 
miraculous  laugh  had  won  him  the  name  of  "  Laughing  Hec 
tor" — a  distinction  of  which  he  was  very  proud ;  and  Laugh 
ing  Hector  had  turned  his  peculiar  talent  to  great  account ; 
for  young  men,  and  maidens  too,  were  in  the  habit  of  paying 
him  for  one  of  his  distinguished  laughs,  which  were  entirely 
independent  of  mirth  or  wit.  When  Marcus  heard  this  mag 
nificent  laugh,  rolling  through  the  silence  of  the  night,  he 
could  not  help  giving  a  merry  response,  while  ten  thousand 
reminiscences  of  life's  earliest  days  were  wakened  by  its  echoes. 

The  next  day  a  great  misfortune  befell  Marcus.  He  deemed 
64 


194  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

it  such,  though  it  eventually  proved  a  blessing.  Ah  !  these 
blessings  in  disguise.  How  often  the  wayfarer  of  life  meets 
them  in  his  journey,  and  knows  them  not !  The  pilgrim  sees 
not  the  angel  through  the  garb  that  conceals  him ;  in  doubting 
and  darkness  he  follows  his  mysterious  guide,  till  a  revelation 
of  divine  glory  bursts  upon  his  vision,  and  the  ways  of  Provi 
dence  are  justified  to  misjudging  man. 

Just  as  he  was  approaching  a  comfortable  looking  dwelling, 
that  promised  shelter  and  rest  for  himself  and  weary  horse, 
the  animal  stumbled  and  threw  his  rider  on  a  rocky  ledge,  with 
a  force  that  produced  insensibility.  Fortunately,  he  was  near 
the  dwelling  of  man,  where  he  could  receive  the  ministrations 
his  helpless  state  demanded.  No  bones  were  broken,  nor  any 
serious  internal  injury  received ;  but  such  was  the  violence  of 
the  fall  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  resume  his  journey  for 
several  days.  Marcus  chafed  with  burning  impatience  under 
this  unexpected  delay.  The  nice  couch  on  which  he  was  laid 
gave  him  no  more  rest  than  Guatemozin  found  on  his  bed  of 
coals.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  been  constrained  to 
submit  to  a  state  of  passive  endurance,  and  at  this  moment  it 
was  agonizing  to  him.  The  fever  of  impatience  kept  him  cap 
tive  longer  than  he  would  have  been,  had  he  borne  his  con 
finement  with  calmness  and  resignation ;  but  he  was  at  length 
able  to  resume  his  journey,  which  he  did  with  feelings  of  un 
speakable  gratitude. 

"  Thank  Heaven  I"  he  exclaimed,  when  once  more  pursuing 
his  impeded  course  j  "it  might  have  been  worse.  I  feel  reno 
vated,  joyous,  and  my  horse  has  renewed  his  strength.  He 
bears  me  on  with  the  fleetness  of  the  antelope.  Oh  !  for  Ma- 
zeppa's  winged  courser — 

"Away,  away,  my  steed  and  I 
Upon  the  pinions  of  the  wind." 

One  flashing  thought  of  Byron  brought  all  the  grand  and 
gorgeous  imagery  of  his  poems  before  the  mind  of  Marcus. 
He  was  no  longer  lonely.  The  woods  through  which  he  rode 
necame  thronged  with  wondrous  travellers.  The  Giaour  came 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  195 

thundering  on  his  raven  steed;  and  Lelia  "shining  in  her  white 
symar;"  the  corsair  with  his  "glittering  casque  and  sable 
plume,  more  glittering  eye  and  black  brow's  sabler  plume ;"  fol 
lowed  by  the  dark-eyed  Grulnare,  and  the  fair-haired  Medora;  Se- 
lim  and  the  lovely  Zuleika ;  the  dark  cloud  spanned  by  the  rain 
bow  ;  Lara,  the  being  of  "  dark  imaginings,"  with  the  unknown 
page  linked  with  such  fond  devotion  to  his  gloomy  destiny ; 
one  and  all,  they  rushed  along  with  him,  swift  as  the  breeze 
that  blew  back  his  horse's  flowing  mane.  Then  the  forest  wag 
converted  into  a  grand  picture  gallery,  where  Shakspeare's 
wizard  pencil  drew  immortal  groups.  From  the  witches  of 
Macbeth,  the  ghosts  of  Banquo,  to  Oberon  and  Titania's  fairy 
court,  he  saw  them  all.  As  the  camel,  when  travelling  the 
desert  sands  of  Arabia,  far  from  the  river's  flow  and  the  foun 
tain's  gush,  moistens  his  dry  throat  from  the  reservoir  within, 
so  he  refreshed  his  loneliness  from  the  well-springs  of  memory, 
and  went  on  his  way  with  a  sparkling  brightness  of  spirit, 
which  even  the  long  trailing,  melancholy  moss,  which  here 
and  there  hung  its  funeral  drapery  on  the  trees,  could  not 
sweep  away. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"We  rushed  forward  through  night;  we  came  to  the  roar  of  the  stream, 
which  bent  its  blue  course  round  the  foe,  through  trees  that  echoed  to  ita 
sound."  "  Shall  the  son  of  Fingal  rush  on  the  sleeping  foe  ?  Shall  he  come 
like  a  blast  by  night,  when  it  overturns  the  young  trees  in  secret  ?" — OSSIAN. 

IT  was  a  wild  scene.  The  camp-fires  were  blazing  along  the 
edge  of  the  woods.  Baggage-wagons,  from  which  the  horses 
and  mules  were  taken,  served  as  teuts  for  the  sick  and  infan 
tine  travellers.  Clusters  of  black  faces  were  grouped  together  • 
the  light  reflected  from  their  charcoal  surface  as  from  mirrors 
of  polished  jet.  Dark,  shining  constellations  they  looked, 
scattered  all  about  among  the  shadows  that  were  here  and 
there  illumined  by  the  intense  radiance  of  the  pine-torch  light, 
and  at  intervals  rolled  together  in  an  opaque,  ebon  mass. 


196  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

There  was  an  air  of  weariness,  and  sullenness,  and  discon 
tent  about  all  these  groups.  They  looked  travel-worn  and 
soiled.  Some  were  washing  their  blistered  feet,  others  mend 
ing  their  torn  garments.  Mothers  were  endeavouring  to  hush 
the  cries  of  their  infants,  trying  alternately  the  effect  of  a  caress 
and  a  blow,  till,  overcome  with  fatigue,  they  dropped  asleep 
over  the  struggling  burden  in  their  arms.  It  is  true,  there 
were  some  blither  notes  in  different  parts  of  the  encampment. 
Some  young  and  India-rubber  beings,  the  moment  the  strain 
of  the  day's  journey  was  over,  would  dance  and  sing,  to  the 
scraping  of  the  violin  and  the  drumming  of  the  tambourine. 
There  were  monkey-faced  children  cutting  indescribable  antics 
on  the  ground  for  the  amusement  of  their  elders,  making  so 
mersets  faster  than  the  beholder  could  count ;  tying  themselves 
apparently  in  double  knots,  and  cutting  themselves  in  two; 
then  flying  together  again  as  if  nothing  had  happened — ju 
venile  Ravels,  self-taught,  flexible  as  whalebone,  and  grace 
ful  as  the  willow.  These  merry,  elfish,  supernatural-looking 
creatures  relieved  the  monotony  and  weariness  of  the  scene, 
and  converted  it  into  a  gipsy  revel.  Pots  simmering  over  the 
fire,  and  red  handkerchiefs  gleaming  from  the  brows  of  the 
women,  increased  the  resemblance  to  a  Bohemian  rendezvous. 

A  tent  was  pitched  in  the  centre  of  this  large  encampment, 
where  the  master  of  these  sable  beings  was  reposing,  after  the 
toils  of  an  itinerant  day.  A  glass  lantern,  "suspended  by  a 
cord  from  the  apex  of  the  tent,  gave  light  to  the  interior,  and 
streamed  down  on  the  face  of  the  gentleman,  who  was  reclining 
on  a  pallet  of  straw,  attentively  engaged  in  reading  a  news 
paper.  He  looked  haggard  and  uneasy,  as  well  he  might. 
Unforeseen  difficulties  had  retarded  his  unrighteous  expedi 
tion.  Sickness  had  broken  out  among  his  negroes,  and  he  had 
been  compelled  to  linger  for  a  detachment  that  had  been  or 
dered  to  meet  him  at  a  particular  point.  Then  the  runaway 
Hector  might  wake  the  bloodhounds  of  pursuit  to  scent  his 
track.  One  of  his  overseers,  after  an  angry  altercation,  had 
that  very  day  left  him  with  covert  threats  and  malicious  insi- 


THE  LONG  MOSS   SPRING.  197 

nuations.  Let  him  but  once  cross  the  Mississippi.  Let  that 
mighty  volume  of  water  only  roll  between  him  and  the  friends 
he  had  wronged,  he  would  feel  safer  and  at  ease.  At  ease ! 
-No  !  his  conscience  was  not  yet  seared.  He  was  not  an  old 
offender.  He  was  naturally  of  A  careless,  convivial  spirit, 
hating  trouble  and  dreading  poverty  ;  but  he  was  easily  swayed 
by  the  will  of  others,  and  warped  to  evil  his  better  nature 
would  have  shunned.  The  influence  that  should  have  been  all- 
powerful  for  good  was  exerted  for  ill.  He  had  married  a  few 
years  before,  for  his  second  wife,  a  lady  of  a  hard  and  worldly 
character;  a  widow  of  reputed  wealth ;  and  the  mother  of  the 
young  man  Pellam,  who  had  spoken  so  insultingly  of  Marcus 
at  Wood  Lawn.  Marcus,  though  he  had  seen  Mr.  Arnold  at 
Bellamy  Place,  was  not  aware  of  this  connection,  and  as  he 
had  been  absent  for  years,  it  was  not  strange  it  had  never  been 
alluded  to  in  his  presence.  Mrs.  Arnold  had  preceded  her 
husband  with  some  relatives  who  resided  in  Texas;  her  son 
travelled  with  his  stepfather,  was  now  the  sharer  of  his  tent, 
and  seated  on  a  camp-stool  near  the  entrance,  where  the  can 
vas  was  rolled  up  to  admit  the  night  air,  that  came  fresh  and 
dewy  from  the  sweet  southwest.  Pellam  looked  dull  and  sleepy. 
The  head  he  had  borne  so  loftily  in  the  presence  of  Marcus 
hung  lazily  on  one  side.  He  was  playing  with  an  open  pen 
knife,  sometimes  paring  his  nails,  and  sometimes  sticking  it 
through  the  canvas,  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  destructiveness. 
A  leathern  belt,  containing  a  bowie-knife  and  pistol,  girdled 
his  waist.  Arnold  was  also  armed.  Two  white  men,  who 
seemed  to  be  overseers,  were  walking  about  the  encampment) 
which  gradually  became  more  still,  till  at  length  nothing  was 
heard  but  the  hoarse  voice  of  the  waterfall,  leaping  mid  the 
current  of  the  creek  that  washed  the  skirts  of  the  woods  which 
sheltered  the  place  of  their  repose.  The  paper  dropped  from 
the  hands  of  Arnold.  Pellam  threw  himself  on  the  pallet 
by  his  side.  They  both  fell  asleep.  The  rays  of  the  lantern 
glared  brightly  on  their  faces.  So  has  the  warrior  slept  on 
the  tented  field,  while  the  foe,  whom  he  thought  remote,  was 


198  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

coming  armed  with  vengeance,  making  the  obscurity  of  night 
subservient  to  his  will.  So  has  the  doomed  one  slept,  while 
the  bolt  that  was  to  fall  upon  him  was  forged  in  the  armory 
of  heaven. 

Arnold  was  awakened,  but  it  was  with  no  downy  touch.  A 
strong  grasp  was  on  his  right  arm.  A  firm  hand  pressed  upon 
his  breast.  He  struggled,  panted,  and  threw  off  the  pressure 
that  held  him  down,  but  the  grasp  was  on  his  arm,  and  a 
figure  before  his  eyes  that  dazzled,  bewildered  him,  and  for 
one  moment  he  believed  himself  arrested  by  superhuman  agency. 
The  eyes  bent  upon  him  were  clear,  serene,  and  of  terrible 
brightness.  They  were  like  the  noonday  sunbeams,  too  intense 
to  meet,  and  the  face  from  which  they  beamed  seemed  en- 
wreathed  with  a  halo,  so  bright  were  the  locks  that  floated 
round  it.  There  was  another  figure  by  its  side,  taller,  larger, 
darker — more  of  the  earth,  earthy.  Arnold  began  to  realize 
his  situation. 

"  What,  ho  !"  he  cried,  leaping  from  the  pallet,  and  writh 
ing  to  free  himself  from  the  hand  of  steel.  "  What,  ho ! 
Pellam,  rouse,  I  say.  Unhand  me." 

Pellam,  who  was  in  a  leaden  sleep,  roused  by  the  outcries 
of  Arnold,  sprang  up  and  instinctively  drew  a  pistol  from  his 
belt.  Marcus  recognised  instantaneously  the  young  man  who 
had  sought  to  degrade  him  in  the  eyes  of  L'eclair,  and,  pre 
viously  excited,  his  blood  boiled  in  his  veins.  He  had  never 
forgotten  the  insult,  and  he  rejoiced  that  an  opportunity  now 
offered  when  he  could  grapple  with  him,  and  satisfy  that  stern 
sense  of  justice  every  man  feels  in  the  presence  of  those  who 
have  wronged  him. 

"Here,"  said  he  to  the  strong  man  at  his  side,  "prevent 
hia  escape;  the  authority  is  in  your  hands." 

Then  surrendering  Arnold  to  the  officer  of  justice,  he  turned 
upon  Pellam,  who  was  aiming  a  pistol  at  his  breast.  Marcus 
wrenched  it  from  his  hand  and  threw  it  upon  the  ground.  Pel 
lam,  though  naturally  cowardly,  felt  as  if  it  were  a  life-strug 
gle,  and  he  hated  Marcus,  the  successful  lover  of  Florence, 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  199 

with  a  deep  and  deadly  hatred.  Drawing  his  bowie  knife,  he 
made  a  fierce  plunge  at  his  antagonist,  but  only  cut  through 
the  air.  Marcus  was  unrivalled  in  the  art  of  fencing,  and 
though  this  was  the  first  time  he  was  ever  engaged  in  mortal 
fight,  he  was  more  than  equal  to  the  strife.  He  was  armed, 
but  instead  of  drawing  his  own  knife,  he  seized  the  wrist  of 
Pellam,  and  the  knife  gleamed  and  glanced  between  them 
coldly,  bluely,  destructively,  but  colder,  bluer,  more  destructive 
gleamed  the  eyes  of  Marcus  on  the  face  of  his  foe.  The  fierce 
delight  that  a  brave  man  feels  in  deeds  of  strife  quivered  on 
his  lip,  and  lighted  up  his  features.  He  was  transformed. 
There  was  a  deadly  beauty  in  his  face.  It  might,  indeed,  be 
said  of  him  at  this  moment,  in  the  beautiful,  hyperbolical 
language  of  the  Canticles,  "  He  was  bright  as  the  sun,  fair  as 
the  moon,  and  terrible  as  an  army  with  banners." 

In  the  mean  time,  Arnold  was  struggling  manfully  with  the 
officer,  who  had  come  armed  with  legal  authority  to  arrest  him. 

"  What,  ho  I"  again  he  cried,  in  vociferous  tones.  "  Bran 
don — Peters — where  are  the  rascals  ?  Come  to  the  rescue ;  I 
defy  the  warrant." 

The  men  thus  summoned,  previously  aroused  by  the  tumult, 
came  rushing  into  the  tent,  which  soon  became  a  battle-ground. 
The  whole  encampment  was,  by  this  time,  a  scene  of  inde 
scribable  confusion.  The  dogs  were  barking  and  howling,  the 
negroes  running  to  and  fro,  partly  comprehending  the  deep 
interest  they  had  in  the  conflict.  A  fortification  of  black 
figures  was  seen  outside  of  the  tent,  growing  broader  and 
broader  as  the  strife  deepened.  It  was  becoming  fearfully  ex 
citing  ;  four  against  two.  The  overseers  were  strong,  rough 
men,  well  skilled  in  the  use  of  the  bowie  knife  and  all  de 
structive  weapons.  They  were  also  initiated  in  the  refined  art 
of  gouging,  an  accomplishment  of  frequent  use  in  the  butchery 
of  man. 

Marcus,  who  had  thrown  Pellam  to  the  ground,  and  wrenched 
the  knife  from  his  grasp,  rushed  upon  these  men  now  bearing 
down  upon  the  sheriff,  who  had  been  exerting  all  his  strength 


200  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

to  retain  his  hold  of  the  prisoner,  desperate  and  struggling  aa 
he  was.  He  did  not  want  to  shed  blood,  he  did  not  want  his 
own  blood  shed,  but  it  was  shed  already.  There  was  a  gash 
in  his  left  arm,  and  a  red  stream  running  over  his  hand.  Mar 
cus  saw  it,  and  the  sight  inflamed  his  passion  with  tenfold 
power.  He  fought  with  fury,  but  against  fearful  odds.  He 
fought  for  life,  for  justice,  for  vengeance.  He  thought  not 
whether  he  spilled  blood  or  not.  He  had  right  and  might  on 
his  side ;  but  it  was  now  three  against  one.  Three  !  it  was 
four ;  for  Pellam  had  risen,  Arnold  was  free ;  the  oflicer  reeled 
with  failing  strength.  Marcus  turned  upon  them  all,  like  the 
stag  at  bay,  believing  himself  lost,  but  strong,  brave,  unyield 
ing  to  the  last.  There  was  a  smile  of  defiance  and  scorn  upon 
his  lip.  His  eye  was  the  lightning,  flashing  from  the  clear  blue 
heavens.  But  listen, — other  footsteps  come  rushing  to  the  tent. 
The  black  wall  gives  way.  A  loud,  thrilling  cry !  It  is  echoed 
by  the  negroes.  More  enemies  !  He  is  lost.  But  hark  !  he 
knows  that  shout.  See,  he  knows  those  coal-black,  burning 
eyes ;  he  knows  those  gray  locks,  that  slightly  bent,  but  com 
manding  form.  Great  heavens  !  Delaval — his  father  !  How 
came  they  there  ?  Is  it  a  dream  ?  Is  he  going  mad  ?  With 
a  sudden,  sharp  cry,  he  springs  and  falls.  A  knife  has  stabbed 
him  through  the  back.  The  villain  dare  not  face  him.  ;Tis 
Pellam.  The  conflict  goes  on  over  the  bleeding  and  insensi 
ble  body  of  Marcus.  Right  and  might  at  last  prevail. 

There  was  a  blank  in  the  existence  of  Marcus;  how  long  he 
knew  not.  When  he  again  opened  his  dim  eyes,  he  saw  around 
him  the  burning  sands  of  the  desert.  He  was  travelling 
through  them,  though,  every  step  he  made  in  the  hot,  arid 
path,  he  tottered  and  panted,  and  his  breath  came  like  flame 
from  his  lips.  He  could  see  in  the  distance  the  green  oases, 
those  Edens  of  the  sandy  wilderness ;  he  could  hear  the  sweet, 
pensive,  soothing  voice  of  the  fountain;  sometimes,  through 
the  sultry  air,  there  would  flow  a  stream  of  balmy  freshness ; 
but  it  was  so  vanishing,  he  scarcely  felt  that  it  had  been  near. 
If  he  could  only  reach  that  fountain,  bathe  his  feverish  brow 


THE  LONQ   MOSS   SPRING.  2t?l 

in  its  waters,  and  die  !  This  was  the  prayer  of  his  soul.  He 
strove  to  drag  his  weary  feet,  they  sank  deeper  and  deeper  in 
the  hot  sand.  He  fell  prostrate  on  his  face,  and  the  scorching 
simoom  swept  over  him  just  as  he  was  panting  out  his  life  on 
this  burning  bed.  Oh,  joy !  oh,  rapture !  a  spring  comes  well 
ing  up  on  the  very  spot  where  he  lies.  The  waters  touch  his 
parched  and  thirsty  lips ;  he  looks  down,  he  sees  the  long, 
feathery  moss  waving,  softly  waving  in  the  deep,  pellucid 
fount.  He  looks  up ;  the  long,  shining  leaves,  the  glorious, 
waxen,  odoriferous  blossoms  of  the  magnolia  are  bending  over 
him,  swaying,  gracefully,  lightly,  in  the  gentle  wind.  That 
blessed  wind — how  it  cools,  how  it  refreshes  his  dry  and 
weary  spirit !  How  he  tries  to  breathe  forth  his  depth  of  gra 
titude  !  Yes,  it  is  his  own  spring,  his  beloved  Long  Moss 
Spring,  born  anew  in  that  desert  by  a  miracle  of  divine  love. 
"With  a  feeling  of  blissful  confidence  in  that  love,  he  closes  his 
eyes,  and  a  delicious  slumber  steals  over  his  senses. 

When  Marcus  awoke,  the  desert,  the  oasis,  the  fountain 
had  vanished.  The  mirage  had  faded  away.  He  was  lying 
in  a  darkened  chamber,  in  which  the  stillness  of  death  reigned. 
He  could  see  through  the  muslin  curtains  that  shaded  his  bed 
the  outlines  of  a  manly  figure,  but  he  could  not  turn  his  head. 
He  was  so  weak  that  he  could  not  prevent  his  eyelids  from 
closing  with  a  soft  slumberous  weight.  "  Father,"  he  whis 
pered.  It  was  a  very  faint  whisper,  but  it  was  heard  by  the 
watching  ear,  made  miraculously  acute  by  intense  anxiety. 
The  figure  sank  on  its  knees  by  the  bed-side,  its  head  was 
bowed  in  its  hands,  and  sobs  were  distinctly  audible. 

Long  had  Mr.  Warland  been  keeping  watch  by  what  was 
believed  would  be  the  death-bed  of  Marcus.  He  had  watched 
him  in  the  wild  ravings  of  delirium  induced  by  the  agony  of 
his  wound,  in  the  still  more  alarming  stupor  that  succeeded, 
while  the  physician  admitted  only  the  possibility  of  his  re 
covery.  He  could  not  encourage  the  faintest  hope,  though  he 
would  not  utterly  extinguish  it.  But  he,  Marcus,  had  looked, 
he  had  spoken  with  intelligence.  The  wandering  spirit  had 


202  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

come  back  to  its  home.  The  eye,  dim  and  heavy  as  it  was, 
the  light  of  reason  was  there,  and  hope  and  joy  were  born  anew. 
We  will  now  explain  the  apparently  miraculous  appearance 
of  Mr.  Warland  and  Delaval  at  the  moment  when  Marcus  was 
sinking  beneath  the  stroke  of  the  assassin.  Laughing  Hector 
had  been  true  to  the  trust  confided  in  him.  A  remarkable  pe 
destrian,  he  had  arrived  in  an  incredibly  short  time  at  Bellamy 
Place,  and  delivered  the  letter  to  its  master.  Both  Mr.  Bella 
my  and  "Warland  felt  increasing  solicitude  about  Marcus.  They 
regretted  they  had  yielded  to  his  boldness  and  impetuosity. 
It  is  true  they  believed  that  Arnold  was  located  someichere,  and 
that  he  would  find  him  in  the  quietude  of  home,  where  it  would 
be  easy  to  arrest  him ;  but  when  they  heard  the  statement  of 
Hector,  and  realized  the  probable  end  of  the  adventure,  should 
Marcus  encounter  him  in  the  fastnesses  of  the  woods,  sur 
rounded  by  his  own  people,  opposing  coolness,  and  treachery, 
and  policy  to  youfti,  rashness,  and  inexperience,  they  deter 
mined  to  follow  and  assist  him.  Delaval,  who  was  at  Hickory 
Hill,  proved  his  friendship  to  Marcus,  by  leaving  Katy,  whom 
he  had  found  fairer  and  dearer  than  ever,  and  taking  the  place 
of  Mr,  Bellamy,  as  the  companion  of  the  father  of  his  friend. 
The  delay  occasioned  by  the  fall  of  Marcus  from  his  horse 
proved  his  salvation,  for  it  gave  time  for  his  friends  to  over 
take  him,  at  an  hour  when  they  were  most  needed.  Marcus 
had  had  the  wisdom  to  secure  the  assistance  of  the  sheriff  of 
the  county  through  which  he  ascertained  Arnold  was  travel 
ling,  though  he  was  not  aware  that  he  was  about  to  encounter 
the  envious  and  vindictive  Pellam.  The  result  of  the  conflict 
in  the  tent,  as  we  have  said  before,  was  the  triumph  of  justice. 
One  of  the  overseers  was  killed — the  other  yielded.  Pellam 
fled  as  soon  as  he  saw  Marcus  fall,  and  Arnold  was  compelled 
to  give  up  the  useless  struggle  by  Warland,  who,  goaded  to 
phrensy  by  the  sight  of  his  prostrate  and  bleeding  son,  put 
forth  the  strength  of  a  giant.  The  negroes  were  taken  by 
virtue  of  the  warrant,  and  he  himself  continued  his  course  to 
Texas,  where  his  wife  awaited  him. 


THE  LONG  MOSS   SPRING.  208 

Marcus  was  removed  to  the  nearest  habitation.  Delaval, 
though  his  yearning  heart  longed  to  plead  the  sacred  rights  of 
friendship,  knew  that  a  father's  rights  were  holier  still,  and, 
yielding  his  place  by  the  bedside,  he  assumed  another  and 
very  heavy  responsibility.  The  negroes  must  have  a  master. 
They  must  be  conducted  home.  The  remaining  overseer,  who 
had  not  understood  the  true  position  of  Arnold's  affairs,  was 
willing  to  enter  the  service  of  Delaval.  The  place  of  the  other 
was  supplied  by  a  better  man. 

If  there  is  any  want  of  clearness  in  this  explanation,  it  must 
be  imputed  to  our  dislike  to  go  back,  and  enter  into  dry  and 
business-like  details.  We  plead  guilty  to  a  desire  to  hurry  them 
over  as  quickly  as  possible.  As  the  traveller  rides  rapidly 
through  a  flat  and  barren  region,  that  he  may  arrive  at  the 
green  and  smiling  country  wooing  him  in  the  distance ;  so  we 
will  only  add,  in  connection  with  this  part  of  the  history,  that 
the  slaves,  who,  sullen  and  reluctant,  had  been  dragging  for 
ward  unwilling  steps,  turned  back  with  cheerful  and  rejoicing 
spirits,  glad  to  exchange  a  careless  and  selfish  master  for  the 
young  and  spirited  Delaval. 

For  weeks  Marcus  lay  in  a  languishing  condition.  The 
wound  had  come  very  near  the  citadel  of  life.  One  hair's-breadth 
nearer  would  have  been  death.  Besides  his  father,  he  had  a 
kind  negro  nurse,  who  reminded  him  of  Aunt  Milly,  for  she 
always  wore  a  peaked  turban  and  white  starched  apron.  One 
evening,  she  told  him  she  was  sent  for  to  wait  upon  a  lady, 
but  a  young  mulatto  girl  would  take  her  place,  who  was  used 
to  taking  care  of  the  sick,  and  had  "  mighty  gentle,  pretty 
ways."  Marcus  was  in  that  languid,  feeble  state,  that  state 
of  perfect  quiescence,  he  felt  no  interest  in  any  change  which 
might  be  going  on  around  him.  But  he  was  still  conscious  of 
an  agreeable  transition,  when  the  young  mulatto  glided  round 
him,  instead  of  the  kind  but  somewhat  officious  negro  woman. 
He  was  not  yet  considered  out  of  danger,  and  the  footsteps 
that  hovered  near  him  had  to  be  soft  "  as  snow  on  snow." 
Kosa — for  that  was  the  name  of  the  young  gir! — might  have 


204  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

passed  for  a  snowflake,  from  the  lightness  of  her  step,  and 
her  voice  was  very  low  and  soft.  Even  the  sight  of  the  green 
blind  that  covered  her  eyes  was  refreshing  to  his  enfeebled 
vision.  It  was  in  consequence  of  this  weakness  of  the  eyes 
that  she  was  placed  as  nurse  over  the  sick,  an  office  she  seemed 
to  love,  and  for  which  nature  had  peculiarly  adapted  her.  It 
was  only,  however,  the  lighter  offices,  such  as  brushing  away 
the  flies,  giving  water  and  medicine,  that  she  was  appointed  to 
perform.  There  were  gratuitous  services  also  she  took  pecu 
liar  pleasure  in  rendering,  such  as  adorning  the  room  with 
flowers,  and  even  strewing  them  on  his  pillow.  She  seemed 
to  have  a  passion  for  roses,  and  would  sometimes  bring  in  a 
whole  apron  full,  and  twist  them  in  garlands  for  the  looking- 
glass  and  mantel-piece.  Her  chief  employment  was  waving  a 
gorgeous  brush  of  peacock's  feathers  over  his  bed,  to  keep  off  the 
intruding  flies.  Marcus,  who  had  nothing  else  to  do,  loved  to 
watch  the  light  movements  of  his  gentle  nurse.  She  reminded 
him  of  Cora,  though  her  complexion  wanted  the  golden  brightness 
of  that  ill-starred  bride,  and  the  beautiful  gazelle-eyes  were 
wanting,  that  gave  such  a  charm  to  Cora's  beaming  face.  She 
was  very  modest,  seldom  spoke,  unless  addressed;  but  Mar 
cus  was  struck  with  the  propriety  of  her  language,  in  compari 
son  with  most  of  her  race.  As  he  grew  stronger  she  became 
more  communicative,  and  told  him  that  her  young  mistress 
had  taught  her  to  read,  and  that  she  had  lived  with  her  more 
as  a  companion  than  a  slave. 

"  I  love  my  young  mistress  as  well  as  I  do  myself,"  said 
the  grateful  Rosa.  "  She  could  not  be  kinder  to  herself  than 
she  has  always  been  to  me." 

"  Why  do  you  not  stay  with  her  ?"  asked  Marcus. 

"  She  is  gone  a  long  journey,  and  it  is  bad  for  weak  eyes 
to  ride  in  the  sun.  A  sick-chamber,  where  the  curtains  are 
all  down,  is  the  best  place  for  them." 

But  Marcus  was  soon  able  to  sit  up  in  an  easy-chair,  and 
look  abroad  upon  the  beautiful  world  he  had  been  so  near 
quitting  for  ever.  The  inexpressible  languor  that  had  been 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  205 

weighing  upon  him,  softly  but  oppressively,  like  a  downy 
covering,  began  to  disperse.  The  spring,  the  elasticity  of 
life,  returned.  He  longed  to  be  once  more  in  action.  The 
wounded  bird  endures  passively  the  confinement  of  the  cage ; 
but  the  moment  the  wings  gain  strength,  they  beat  against 
the  prison-bars,  and  strive  for  the  blue  sky  and  the  open  air. 

One  night  he  was  seated  by  the  open  window,  through 
which  the  moon  was  shining,  making  silver  checker-work  on 
the  floor.  His  face  was  as  white  as  marble,  while  his  eyes 
looked  unusually  dark  and  luminous.  Rosa  came  in  with  a 
bouquet  of  beautifully  arranged  flowers,  and  handed  them  to 
him  without  speaking.  As  she  was  standing,  with  her  head 
a  little  one  side,  a  natural  position  of  hers,  she  could  see  be 
neath  her  green  shade  his  pale  yet  lustrous  countenance,  and 
she  seemed  struck  with  its  extraordinary  beauty.  She  sighed, 
and  turned  toward  the  window,  where  the  moon  looked 
directly  down  on  her  own  deep,  olive  cheek. 

"  What  can  I  ever  do  for  you,  Rosa  ?"  said  Marcus,  in  a  gentle 
voice,  gazing  with  admiration  on  the  lovely  outline  of  her  face, 
to  which  the  moonbeams  were  now  giving  a  pale  silver  edging. 
"  You  have  spoiled  me  by  your  kind,  unceasing  attentions.  I 
do  not  know  what  I  shall  do  without  you.  If  it  were  not  for 
my  friends,  I  could  almost  regret  getting  well,  and  being 
obliged  to  leave  you." 

"  You  will  soon  forget  the  poor  mulatto,"  answered  Ro^a, 
in  a  tremulous  voice,  "  while  she  will  think  of  the  time  spent 
in  your  sick  chamber  as  the  happiest  of  her  whole  life." 

There  was  something  in  the  tone,  the  manner,  that  startled 
Marcus,  that  gave  him  a  feeling  of  unutterable  pain.  There 
was  a  pathos,  a  hopelessness, — he  could  not  deny  it, — a  love 
in  the  tones,  that,  combined  as  it  was  with  the  recollection  of 
her  unwearied  devotion,  her  sleepless  cares,  her  flowery  offei- 
ing,  her  gentle  sighs,  invested  her  with  a  romance  in  that  soft, 
silvery  hour,  as  painful  as  it  was  singular. 

"  I  cannot  be  so  ungrateful  as  to  forget  one  who  has  been 
so  kind  to  me,"  he  replied;  "I  shall  talk  about  you  to 


206  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

my  friends,  to  my  sweet  sister.  "We  shall  all  remember 
Bow." 

"  Who  are  Florence  and  L' eclair,  that  you  used  to  talk 
about  in  your  sleep  ?  Which  is  your  sister  ?"  asked  she, 
"and  why  have  they  not  been  to  see  you?" 

"  They  are  too  far  off/'  he  replied.  "  My  sister  did  wish 
to  come,  but  as  my  father  was  here  himself,  he  thought  she 
had  better  not.  Florence  and  L'eclair  are  one  and  the  same 
person." 

"  Do  you  love  her  ?"  asked  the  mulatto,  in  a  very  low  voice. 

"  Better  than  life,  better  than  my  own  soul,"  answered  Mar 
cus,  with  a  fervour  that  brought  the  blood  warmly,  brightly 
to  his  pallid  cheek. 

"  How  happy  she  must  be,"  exclaimed  Rosa,  drawing  back 
into  the  shade,  as  if  she  feared  the  lustre  that  surrounded  her 
would  reveal  her  inmost  soul ;  "  how  happy  those  must  be 
who  love  each  other.  I  never  shall  see  one  of  my  own  colour 
that  I  can  love,  and  the  poor  mulatto  dare  not  cast  her  eyea 
beyond  her  tribe." 

Marcus  began  to  feel  the  deepest  embarrassment.  It  was 
evident  his  pretty,  gentle,  child-like  young  nurse  regarded  him 
with  emotions  he  was  far  from  wishing  to  inspire.  The  linger 
ing  debility  of  illness  rendered  him  more  susceptible  to  tender 
ness  and  compassion,  and  he  felt  pity  for  her  infatuation, 
rather  than  anger  at  her  presumption.  Poor,  refined  young 
creature  !  How  could  she  feel  any  congeniality  with  the  be 
ings  of  her  tribe  ?  She  seemed  formed  for  no  office  more  rude 
than  to  gather  roses,  and  wave  the  sun-eyed  plumes  over  the 
couch  of  sickness.  He  shuddered  to  think  of  her  ever  being 
associated  with  her  more  sable  brethren. 

"  Can  I  do  any  thing  more  for  you,  young  master  ?"  said 
she,  in  a  tone  of  touching  humility. 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  replied  Marcus.  "  You  had  better 
retire." 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  approached  the  door,  then  paused, 
ind  returned  a  few  steps. 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  207 

"  I  am  going  away  to-morrow/'  she  said ;  "  my  young  mis 
tress  has  sent  for  me.  You  are  now  so  nearly  well,  you  can  do 
without  much  waiting  on ;  at  any  rate,  you  will  be  going  away 
yourself  directly." 

"  To-morrow,"  repeated  Marcus.  He  was  unwilling  to  ac 
knowledge  to  himself  how  reluctant  he  felt  to  be  separated 
from  his  interesting  nurse.  There  was  a  charm  about  her, 
whose  influence  he  had  felt,  when  she  first  entered  with  downy 
footsteps  his  then  darkened  room.  "  To-morrow ;  that  is  very 
goon." 

He  wanted  to  give  her  some  token  of  gratitude.  He  could 
not  offer  her  money ;  that  would  degrade  too  much  her  heart 
felt  services.  He  had  a  ring  on  his  finger,  a  ruby  ring,  that 
was  the  amulet  given  him  by  Mrs.  Bellamy.  He  could  not 
part  with  that.  He  had  a  locket,  containing  Katy's  hair,  sus 
pended  from  a  gold  chain  in  his  bosom.  This  was  a  fitting 
memorial,  and  this  he  gave  her.  The  blood  rushed  visibly  to 
her  dark  cheek,  she  trembled  with  emotion. 

"  One  more  favour,"  she  said.  "  Don't  think  me  bold ;  one 
lock  of  your  hair,  to  put  with  this  beautiful  dark  one ;  Rosa 
never  will  part  with  it." 

Running  to  the  table  with  the  eagerness  of  a  child,  she 
caught  up  a  pair  of  scissors,  and  held  them  toward  him. 
Marcus  laughed,  but  he  could  not  help  blushing,  as  he 
shook  forward  the  long  locks  that  waved  back  from  his 
forehead. 

"  Cut  it  yourself,"  said  he,  "  if  you  care  about  it.  I  can 
spare  it  very  well  from  this  golden  fleece." 

Passing  her  little,  soft,  dark  fingers  through  the  luxuriant 
clusters,  she  severed  a  tress,  and  holding  it  up  in  the  moon 
beams,  laughed  with  childish  delight.  "  Beautiful !  beauti 
ful  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  prettier  than  the  chain,  prettier  than 
the  locket.  Thank  you,  /thank  you  for  this." 

Turning  round,  and  touching  it  lightly  to  her  lips,  she  va 
nished  from  the  room. 

"  What  a  child  of  Nature  she  is !"  thought  Marcus.    "  She 


208  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

seems  as  beautiful  as  Cora,  and  a  hundred  times  more  refined. 
Poor  Rosa  I" 

The  next  morning,  the  black  boy,  who  had  acted  as  her  un 
der  servant  during  her  administrations  to  him,  brought  him  a 
fresh  cluster  of  flowers,  saying  Rosa  had  sent  it,  as  a  parting 
gift.  "  She  would  not  bid  him  good-bye,"  the  boy  said,  "  because 
she  was  afraid  she  should  cry." 

Marcus  felt  as  if  there  were  a  blank  in  his  being.  The  fairy- 
like  step,  the  gentle  hand  that  had  given  such  a  charm  to  his 
sick  room  were  now  gone.  He  was  certain  he  would  have  died 
if  it  had  not  been  for  her  unwearied  ministrations.  Kind  and 
devoted  as  his  father  had  been,  he  was  a  man.  He  would  sit 
up  with  him  night  after  night,  sleepless  and  tireless.  He 
would  make  any  sacrifice  of  personal  ease  to  paternal  love ;  but 
he  was  a  man,  and  never  thought  of  those  little  nameless  at 
tentions,  so  inexpressibly  soothing  to  those  reduced  to  child 
like  weakness.  'Tis  woman,  whose  soft  hand  bathes  the  fever 
ish  brow  and  smooths  the  ruffled  pillow,  fans  the  burning 
cheek  and  decorates  the  apartment,  so  as  to  gladden  the  weary 
eye.  It  was  thus  Rosa  had  done,  and  notwithstanding  the 
dark  hue  that  divided  her  from  him  as  a  natural  barrier,  he 
never  could  recall,  without  thrilling  interest,  her  fidelity,  de 
votion,  and  artless  love. 

In  a  short  time  he  was  able  to  commence  his  journey,  tra 
velling  slowly  at  first,  with  intervals  of  rest,  but  gathering 
vigour  and  spirit  every  mile  that  brought  him  nearer  to  Bel 
lamy  Place. 

No  hero  returned  from  a  glorious  campaign  was  ever  wel 
comed  with  more  enthusiasm  than  Marcus.  Exalted  by  cou 
rage  and  endeared  by  danger,  the  feelings  he  inspired  partook 
more  of  idolatry  than  common  affection.  He  did  not  feel  that 
he  had  in  any  way  cancelled  the  debt  of  gratitude ;  but  he 
rejoiced  he  had  been  enabled  to  be  of  use  to  his  benefactor. 
Nor  was  it  alone  at  Hickory  Hill  he  received  the  honours  due 
to  a  hero.  The  fame  of  his  heroic  actions  spread  far  and  wide. 
It  was  blazoned  in  the  newspapers,  discussed  in  the  streets, 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  209 

talked  about  in  the  private  circle.  His  youth,  talents,  and 
dauntless  resolution,  his  extraordinary  personal  endowments, 
were  the  exhaustless  topics  of  the  day.  Never  did  a  young 
man  commence  a  public  career  under  more  splendid  auspices. 
He  did  not  select  a  large  city  as  the  theatre  of  his  professional 
labours.  He  remembered  the  advice  of  Judge  Cleveland  on 
that  subject.  "  Young  men,"  said  that  wise  and  excellent 
man,  "  are  apt  to  seek  distinction  in  the  very  places  where 
their  separate  existence  is  unrecognised.  In  a  large  and  popu 
lous  city,  where  the  professions  are  crowded,  they  have  to  wait 
for  those  occasions,  which  so  rarely  occur,  to  elicit  distin 
guished  talent  or  brilliant  genius.  Let  them  rather  choose  a 
small  town,  with  wealthy  surroundings ;  let  them  make  the 
place  celebrated  by  their  own  renown,  and  then  they  may 
'  take  the  wings  of  the  morning  and  fly  to  the  uttermost  parts 
of  the  sea/  if  they  will ;  the  light  of  their  reputation  •vnll 
follow  them." 

It  was  just  such  a  spot  as  this,  in  his  native  State,  that 
Marcus  selected  to  make  himself  a  name  and  fame,  that 
should  go  abroad  into  the  world ;  to  cultivate  the  vineyard, 
to  build  the  bower,  that,  covered  with  the  rosy  bloom  of  love, 
might  woo  to  its  sweet  retreat  the  bright  and  beloved  L' eclair. 

Delaval,  the  friend  of  his  youth,  was  the  betrothed  of  his 
sister,  so  that  he  had  a  prospect  of  being  united  to  him  by  a 
two-fold  cord.  The  young  master  of  Wood  Lawn  had  not 
commenced  his  career  as  a  lawyer.  He  had  taken  possession 
of  his  estate ;  and  though  Mr.  Alston  still  resided  with  him, 
he  had  no  longer  the  authority  to  dictate,  as  his  aristocracy 
prompted.  The  uncle  considered  it  his  especial  duty  to  choose 
a  wife  for  Delaval — an  irreproachable  connection;  but  he  found 
the  nephew,  as  well  as  niece,  had  a  strong  will,  and  preferred 
choosing  for  himself. 

"  In  one  year  from  this  time,"  said  Delaval,  "  the  sweetest 
violet  that  ever  sought  the  shade  shall  beautify  with  its  mo 
dest  charms  my  Wood  Lawn  home." 

"  In  one  year."  cried  Marcus,  "  I  can  transplant  my  wild 
65 


210  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

Passion-flower,  where  it  shall  bloom  gloriously  in  the  sunshine 
of  my  heart." 

One  year !  Marcus  believed  in  perennial  sunshine.  He 
felt  it  warming,  shining  within.  He  saw  it  sparkling,  shining 
without.  He  thought  of  no  cloud.  Why  should  he,  when  the 
firmament  was  one  clear,  blue,  boundless  arch ;  when  no  cloud, 
as  big  as  a  man's  hand,  floated  on  the  ether  ?  But  who  would 
believe  that  the  dew  that  sparkles  on  the  grass  and  the  flowers 
contained  the  elements  of  the  storm,  that  may  destroy  their 
verdure  and  their  bloom  ? 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  Oh  !  agony — keen  agony ! 

For  trusting  heart  to  find 
That  vows  believed  were  vows  conceived 

As  light  as  summer  wind. 
Oh  !  agony  !  sharp  agony ! 

To  find  how  loth  to  part 
With  the  fickleness  and  faithlessness 

That  break  a  trusting  heart !" — MOTHERWELL. 

FLORENCE  sat  at  her  favourite  window,  reading.  She  did 
not  seem  deeply  engaged  in  the  contents  of  her  book,  for  she 
would  look  up  occasionally,  with  a  soft,  dreamy,  abstracted 
air,  and  suffer  it  to  fall  in  her  lap.  Then  leaning  her  head 
on  her  hand,  she  would  twist  her  fingers  in  a  gold  chain  that 
encircled  her  neck,  and  play  with  the  locket  that  nestled  in 
her  bosom.  That  she  had  a  subject  of  reflection  more  pleas 
ing  than  her  book,  was  evident  from  the  sweet,  subdued  ex 
pression  of  her  love-lighted  face.  She  had  told  Marcus,  in  that 
very  room,  on  that  very  seat,  that  she  dreaded  the  thought  of 
love ;  that  she  knew,  if  she  once  yielded  to  its  influence,  she 
would  become  a  vassal  to  its  will.  Even  when  she  was  boast 
ing  of  her  freedom,  she  was  a  captive  to  its  power;  but  she 
was  a  Zenobia  bound  in  golden  chains,  a  queen  even  in  her  cap 
tivity,  disdaining  to  acknowledge  her  subjection  or  pay  homage 
to  her  victor.  Now  the  pride  that  had  resisted  was  the  strong 
axillary  of  her  love.  She  gloried  in  having  felt,  even  at  the 


THE  LONG  MOSS   SPRING.  211 

first  glance,  the  superiority,  the  genius,  to  which  the  world 
was  beginning  to  bow.  She  exulted  in  the  thought,  that  if 
she  had  obeyed  the  great  law  of  woman's  being, — that  centri 
petal  attraction  which  draws  her  irresistibly  toward  some 
central  and  controlling  force — she  was  a  primary  orb,  re 
volving  round  no  lesser  luminary,  but  tracing  her  dazzling 
path  near  one  who  was  destined  to  be  the  effulgent  sun  of  the 
social  system  to  which  she  belonged. 

But  there  was  no  pride  mingled  in  the  reflections  which  she 
was  now  indulging.  All  the  softness,  the  tenderness  of  wo 
man's  nature  was  floating  in  her  eyes  of  eastern  splendour, 
and  stealing  over  the  rubies  of  her  lips.  She  was  thinking 
of  Marcus,  not  as  the  eloquent  pleader,  the  intellectual  gla 
diator,  the  bold  vindicator  of  outraged  justice,  such  as  he  had 
taken  his  stand  before  the  world ;  but  as  she  had  last  seen 
him,  pallid  and  gentle,  dependent  on  her  cares,  passive  and 
grateful  as  a  child.  She  drew  forth  the  locket,  the  pledge  of 
his  gratitude  to  his  humble  attendant,  and  gazed  on  the  beau 
tiful,  amber  lock,  now  braided  with  Katy's  dark-brown  hair. 

"Ah !  little  does  he  think,"  said  she,  smiling  at  the  little 
romance  of  which  she  was  the  unknown  heroine,  "  whose  hand 
administered  to  his  helplessness.  Little  does  he  think,  when 
he  so  gently  encircled  the  bending  neck  of  the  mulatto  girl 
with  this  golden  chain,  he  was  adding  new  and  stronger  links 
to  the  heart-fetters  that  bind  us  to  each  other.  Ah  !  how  well 
I  remember  that  moment — that  holy,  moonlight  hour  !  Down 
in  the  unfathomable  depths  of  my  spirit  I  felt  his  regal  power. 
I  was  clothed  in  the  humility  of  the  disguise  I  wore.  I  could 
have  knelt  at  his  feet,  borne  down  by  the  mighty  burden  of 
my  love.  How  I  longed  to  throw  myself  into  his  arms,  to 
weep  upon  his  bosom,  to  breathe  out  the  fulness  of  my  grati 
tude  that  God  had  given  him  back  to  life  !  But  I  resisted  the 
temptation,  and  I  rejoice  that  my  secret  is  safe.  He  never 
shall  know,  that  in  the  delirium  of  my  despair,  the  madness 
of  my  love  at  the  tidings  of  his  danger,  I  was  guilty  of  an  act 
of  imprudence,  for  which  even  George  has  scarcely  forgiveu 


212  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

me,  good  Mrs.  Lewis  preached  me  a  thousand  sermons,  and 
which,  if  my  proud  uncle  knew,  would  end  his  perpendicularity 
and  his  life.  Blessings  on  the  journey  that  took  him  from 
home  at  that  very  time.  What  if  Marcus  should  condemn  me 
for  it  ?  Ah  !  I  should  wish  myself  the  Lightning  indeed,  that 
I  might  blast  him  for  his  ingratitude." 

"  What  is  that,  Letty  ?"  she  asked,  as  a  negro  girl  came  in 
with  a  packet  in  her  hand. 

"  Something  one  of  Master  Patterson's  men  left  as  he  go 
by,"  answered  Letty,  the  favourite  attendant  of  Florence — one 
of  the  ugliest  and  shrewdest  creatures  that  can  possibly  be 
imagined.  It  is  impossible  to  describe  her  face,  but  it  gave 
one  the  impression  of  being  wrong  side  outward,  and  her  ex 
traordinary  grimaces  seemed  efforts  to  turn  it  right.  Delaval 
said  Florence  kept  this  girl  about  her  as  a  foil  for  her  beauty, 
but  it  was  from  a  better  motive.  When  Florence  was  a  very 
little  girl,  Letty,  not  a  great  deal  older  than  herself,  had  saved 
her  from  drowning,  and  in  several  instances  had  shown  such  a 
remarkable  attachment  that  Florence  rewarded  it  by  giving 
her  the  position  she  most  desired,  a  place  in  the  household, 
and  near  her  own  person. 

Mr.  Patterson  was  a  gentleman  who  resided  not  very  far 
from  Wood  Lawn.  His  sou  was  in  college  at  the  same  time 
with  Marcus  and  Delaval,  and  when  he  renewed  his  acquaint 
ance  with  the  latter  at  his  own  home,  he,  like  many  others, 
paid  his  addresses  to  the  young  heiress,  receiving  a  courteous 
but  decided  refusal.  Though  discarded  as  a  lover,  he  still 
claimed  the  privileges  of  a  friend,  and  Florence  often  received 
books  and  papers  and  tokens  of  remembrance  from  him. 

She  opened  the  packet.  It  contained  several  newspapers 
and  a  pamphlet.  She  thought  the  papers  might  have  some 
connection  with  Marcus,  and  she  eagerly  ran  over  the  columns. 
She  was  right.  There  were  extracts  from  a  speech  he  had 
made  at  a  very  interesting  trial,  which  had  attracted  great  at 
tention,  and  won  him  signal  honour.  It  was  thrillingly  elo 
quent,  but  as  the  editor  remarked,  "  it  wanted  the  voice  of 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  213 

deep,  melodious  persuasion,  the  magnetic  eye,  the  graceful 
gesture,  the  personal  fascination  that  distinguished  the  youth 
ful  orator."  Florence  read,  while  the  generous  pride  one 
feels  in  the  triumphs  of  a  beloved  friend  swelled  her  heart. 

"  And  this  gifted  being  is  mine,"  thought  she.  "  The  voice 
of  millions  will  one  day  justify  my  choice;  and  yet,  he  would 
be  as  dear  to  me  if,  unknown,  unprized  by  the  world,  he  ex 
isted  alone  for  love  and  me." 

"  But  what  is  this  ?"  she  said,  opening  the  pamphlet.  "  Some 
political  document,  fresh  from  Congress.  For  George,  I  sup 
pose.  When  somebody  makes  the  dry  bones  shake  there  with 
his  prophet  voice,  I  will  condescend  to  read  all  their  pam 
phlets." 

"  You  dropped  something,  Miss  Florence,"  said  Letty,  pick 
ing  up  a  letter  from  the  carpet.  "  I  reckon  it  a  love-letter." 

Florence  took  it,  and  read  the  superscription, — "Mr.  Alfred 
Patterson."  "  He  must  have  sent  this  for  me  to  read,"  said 
she,  unfolding  it.  "But  I  cannot  imagine  what  interest  I  can 
have  in  his  letters.  Ah  !  I  see — I  understand." 

With  a  blush  of  pleasure  she  began  its  perusal.  The  blush 
faded.  Calmness,  and  even  indifference  succeeded.  Then 
suddenly  her  brow  contracted ;  her  face  reddened,  crimsoned ; 
her  eyes  flashed  like  burning  gas.  She  started  up,  dashed 
the  letter  on  the  carpet,  and  pressed  her  foot  crushingly 
upon  it. 

"  What  the  matter  ? — what  the  matter,  Miss  Florence  ?" 
cried  Letty,  in  alarm.  "  Something  sting  you  ?  Wasp,  yel 
low-jacket?  Let  me  find  him." 

"  Stung  ?  Yes  !  stung — stung  through  the  heart.  Don't 
speak  to  me — don't,"  cried  she,  wildly,  stamping  her  foot  pas 
sionately  on  the  paper. 

"  Hornet  in  this  letter,"  said  Letty,  grinning,  and  stooping 
to  pick  it  up.-  "  I  kill  him,  you  see  if  I  don't." 

"  How  dare  you  laugh  ?"  exclaimed  Florence,  snatching  the 
paper  from  her  hands,  and  walking  the  room  with  the  step  and 
look  of  a  Delphi  priestess,  so  intense  was  her  passion,  so  uuut- 


214  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

terable  its  expresssion.  "  Open  the  window,"  she  cried.  "  I 
cannot  breathe — I  suffocate." 

Terrified  at  the  frantic  emotions,  Letty  leaped  toward  the 
window,  at  the  risk  of  plunging  her  ugly  head  through  the 
panes,  and  opening  it,  pushed  back  the  curtains,  then  seizing 
a  large  feather  fan,  began  to  fan  the  scarlet  cheeks  of  her  young 
mistress  with  great  vehemence. 

Florence  made  an  impatient  gesture  with  her  hand.  "  Leave 
me,"  she  said,  in  a  husky  voice.  "  I  want  to  be  alone — I 
must  be  alone." 

"  I  so  sorry.  I  mighty  sorry,  Miss  Florence,"  said  the  sympa 
thizing  negro.  "  What  can  have  happened  to  make  you  feel 
so  bad  ?  I  do  hope  nothing  the  matter  with  Master  Marcus." 

Florence,  who  was  leaning  against  the  window,  with  both 
hands  pressed  against  her  temples,  turned  round  with  such  a 
look  of  indignation  Letty  was  frightened,  and  drew  back  two 
or  three  steps  toward  the  door. 

"  If  you  ever  mention  that  name  to  me  again,  Letty,"  said 
Florence,  her  lips  curling  with  ineffable  disdain,  "  you  never 
enter  my  presence  again.  Remember.  I  command  everlast 
ing  silence." 

"  Oh !  mercy  I"  cried  Letty,  rubbing  her  head  with  both 
hands,  and  making  a  perfect  corkscrew  of  her  face.  "  Oh  ! 
mercy !  what  can  be  the  matter  ?  Little  time  ago  you  go  way 
off,  thinking  nothing  in  the  world  of  yourself  so  you  save  his 
life ;  no  care  if  you  die,  so  he  live.  And  Letty  go  with  you, 
and  know  all  'bout  it.  Now  you  tell  me  never  speak  his 
name  I  dumb  'fore  I  learn  that." 

Florence  flew  towards  her  with  uplifted  hand.  She  did  not 
strike  her,  but  she  brought  that  beautiful,  soft  hand  down  over 
the  great  thick  lips  it  could  scarcely  cover,  and  taking  hold  of 
her  arm  with  the  other  hand,  gave  her  an  involuntary  mo 
mentum  in  the  direction  of  the  door  she  was  constrained  to 
follow.  The  moment  she  was  gone,  Florence  untwisted  the 
golden  chain  from  her  neck. 

"  I  thought  it  would   choke  me,"  she  cried.     "  And  this 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  215 

locket — how  it  burned  against  my  heart  I"  Tossing  it  into  the 
corner  of  the  room,  the  proud  heiress  threw  herself  on  thf  car 
pet,  as  if  crushed  by  some  mighty  wo,  her  face  buried  on  her 
arms,  her  hair  sweeping  round  her,  forming  a  night-shade  for 
her  grief  and  shame.  Her  frame  shook  and  quivered  with 
the  imprisoned  fires  of  passion.  Never,  'perhaps,  had  a  more 
sudden,  terrible  storm  swept  over  a  human  heart.  It  was  like 
the  hurricane  of  the  tropic  regions,  blasting  the  rich  bloom 
their  burning  sun  had  called  forth. 

It  was  thus  her  brother  found  her.  A  little  while  before 
he  had  passed  the  window  where  she  was  seated,  and  she 
had  looked  up  with  such  a  sweet,  happy  smile.  And  now  she 
was  lying  on  the  floor,  like  one  stricken  down,  crushed ;  she 
whose  bright,  glad  nature  seemed  impassible  to  suffering. 
Shocked,  alarmed,  he  bent  over  her,  and  tried  to  raise  her, 
but  she  resisted  the  effort.  He  called  her  name,  but  she  made 
no  answer. 

"  Good  heavens  I"  he  cried,  "  what  can  be  the  matter.  'Tis 
terrible.  ;Tis  convulsions — 'tis  catalepsy." 

He  was  about  to  rush  out  and  call  for  assistance,  when  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  paper  she  still  clenched  in  her  hand. 
Fearing  he  might  tear  it,  he  unclosed  her  fingers,  expecting 
to  meet  with  strong  resistance,  but,  to  his  astonishment,  she 
appeared  unconscious  of  his  touch,  though  not  insensible.  He 
read  the  letter  in  the  attitude  in  which  he  had  taken  it,  kneel 
ing  on  one  knee,  while  she  lay  prostrate  and  passive  beside 
him.  He  read  it  through,  and  through  again,  before  he  moved 
one  muscle.  His  very  breathing  seemed  suspended.  Then 
he  started  on  his  feet  with  an  exclamation  so  startling,  it 
caused  a  responsive  movement  in  the  seemingly  paralyzed  limbs 
of  Florence.  She  raised  her  head,  and  leaning  on  one  elbow, 
looked  him  in  the  face.  But  such  a  look  !  it  made  him  shud 
der.  The  despair  of  an  Ariadne  and  the  vengeance  of  a  Medea 
were  there. 

"  Florence,"  said  he,  holding  out  the  letter,  and  grinding 
his  teeth  as  he  spoke,  "  how  came  you  by  this  ?  Who  sent  it  ?" 


216  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

"  Who  sent  it  ?"  repeated  she,  sitting  up,  and  pushing  back 
her  thick,  disordered  ringlets,  while  she  passed  her  hand 
hurriedly  over  her  brow.  "  Oh,  indeed ;  who  did  send  it  ?" 

"  By  heavens,  he's  driven  her  mad  I"  exclaimed  Delaval, 
"  and  me,  too.  I'll  kill  him.  Yes,  I'll  kill  him,  or  he  me. 
The  whole  earth  shall  not  hold  us  both.  By  all  the  powers 
of  heaven  and  hell,  she  shall  be  avenged  I" 

With  a  piercing  shriek,  Florence  sprang  from  the  floor,  and 
threw  her  arms  round  her  brother. 

"  No,  no,  no,"  she  cried,  "  you  shall  not  kill  him  ;  you  shall 
not  meet  him.  I  will  not  have  any  blood  shed.  No,  no. 
What  right  have  you  to  do  it  ?  This  was  all  a  mistake.  It  came 
to  me  by  mistake ;  he  never  meant  I  should  see  it.  Oh,  that 
you  had  never  seen  it !  Oh,  George,  how  dare  you  snatch  it 
from  my  hand  ?  I  would  not  have  had  you  see  it  for  a 
thousand  worlds." 

"  Sister,"  said  her  brother,  sternly,  "  if  you  are  willing  to 
brook  an  insult  like  this,  I  tell  you,  it  is  well  there  is  some 
one  who  knows  how  to  maintain  the  honour  of  the  family.  Is 
it  possible,  that  it  is  you,  Florence  Delaval,  my  sister,  can 
look  me  in  the  face,  and  tell  me  t-hat  I  shall  not  avenge  your 
wrongs  I" 

She  did  look  him  in  the  face,  with  her  dark,  powerful,  de 
precating  eyes.  "  Brother,  there  are  wrongs  that  cannot  be 
avenged,  and  this  is  one.  I  am  calmer  now;  you  must  listen. 
I  am  not  mad ;  I  know  what  I  am  saying.  This  is  a  private 
letter,  fallen  by  accident  into  my  hands.  His  private  senti 
ments — that  every  man  has  a  right  to  express.  Yes,"  she 
added,  a  bitter  smile  wreathing  her  pale  and  quivering  lips, 
"  he  has  a  right  thus  to  think  and  thus  to  write,  and  no  power 
on  earth  can  wrest  it  from  him ;  and  I  have  the  right  to  de 
spise,  to  hate,  to  loathe  myself  in  dust  and  ashes  and  sackcloth, 
for  having  loved  this  ingrate  so  wildly,  blindly,  madly  loved 
him." 

"  Florence,  you  love  him  yet,  I  believe  you  do,"  said  Dela- 
tral;  fiercely.  "  If  I  thought  you  did  not  despise,  hate,  loathe 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  217 

him,  as  much  as  you  once  loved,  I  could  see  you  die  by  my 
own  hands,  rather  than  live  so  degraded." 

"  Oh,  brother,  that  you  would  indeed  kill  me,"  she  cried, 
sliding  down  from  his  arms,  and  wrapping  hers  around  his 
knees.  "I  am  so  wretched,  so  miserable;  I  don't  want  to 
Ire.  I  feel  so  blasted,  so  crushed,  so  deadly  sick  at  heart." 

"  And  yet  you  would  have  me  sit  down,  like  a  tame  fool, 
and  say  nothing,"  he  cried.  "  I  swear,  by  all  the  gods  of 
Olympus,  that  he,  that  false  villain,  shall  meet  me,  pistol  to 
pistol,  or  knife  to  knife,  and  that  one  or  the  other  shall  be 
carried  dead  from  the  field." 

"  And  as  sure  as  you  fulfil  that  dreadful  oath,"  exclaimed 
she,  clasping  her  hands  passionately  together,  and  raising  them 
above  her  head,  "  you  destroy  me  for  ever ;  body  and  soul,  you 
destroy  me.  I  will  not  live.  You  will  plunge  me  in  the 
grave  of  the  suicide ;  you  will  drive  me  to  an  act  for  which 
there  is  no  repentance,  no  hope,  no  redemption.  George,  if 
you  do  not  take  back  that  fearful  oath,  if  you  do  not  promise 
me,  solemnly  promise,  now,  this  moment,  your  sister's  blood 
will  be  on  your  head,  your  sister's  soul  required  at  your  hands." 

He  tried  to  raise  her,  but  she  would  not  be  raised.  He 
tried  to  unclasp  her  clinging  arms,  but  she  only  clung  the 
tighter,  repeating,  "  Promise,  G-eorge ;  I  never  will  release 
you,  till  you  promise  to  forbear." 

"  I  promise,  then,"  cried  he,  sullenly,  "  and  eternal  disgrace 
rest  upon  us  both." 

She  released  her  arms,  and  fell  forward,  weeping.  A  sud 
den,  violent  gush  of  tears  relieved  the  tension  of  her  brain. 
She  was  now  passive  as  an  infant.  He  found  no  difficulty  in 
lifting  ker,  and  seating  her  on  the  window-seat  by  his  side, 
his  arms  still  surrounding  her.  While  she  lay,  weeping,  sob 
bing  on  his  bosom,  dark  and  stormy  thoughts  swept  through 
it.  All  his  own  dreams  of  happiness  were  fled  with  hers.  The 
blow  that  severed  her  from  Marcus  must  sunder  the  bond  that 
bound  him  to  Katy.  This  would  be  the  inevitable  result 
Then  his  friendship,  his  ardent,  disinterested,  trusting  friend- 


218  MARCUS  WARLAND;   OR, 

ship ;  what  a  deep,  immedicable  wound  it  had  received  !  Never 
more  could  he  trust  in  human  virtue  or  truth.  Never  more 
"  garner  up  his  heart"  in  the  heart  of  another.  His  hot  south 
ern  blood  boiled  at  the  thought  of  passive  endurance  of  the 
most  galling  insult.  He  writhed  at  the  remembrance  of  his 
exacted  promise.  It  seemed  as  if  he  were  a  base,  dishonoured 
coward,  a  vile,  mealy-mouthed  hypocrite.  Pellam  was  right. 
This  son  of  a  ferryman  and  overseer  was  unworthy  to  mate 
with  them,  or  any  honourably  descended  individuals.  Then 
a  sudden  doubt  startled  him.  Could  he  indeed  have  written 
that  letter  ?  He  seized  hold  of  this  doubt ;  he  grasped  it,  as 
the  drowning  man  the  twig  that  floats  on  the  stream. 

Suddenly,  as  if  by  a  simultaneous  emotion,  the  expression 
of  Florence's  countenance  changed. 

"  Brother  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  Let  me  think  one  moment. 
Marcus  Warland  !  Can  he  be  the  fiend  who  has  thus  cruelly, 
pitilessly  cut  me  right  through  the  heart  ?  This  cannot  be 
his  handwriting.  Brother,  he  never  wrote  it.  I  know  he 
never  did.  How  could  I  bejjeve  him  guilty  of  such  a  coward 
blow?  God  forgive  my  injustice.  Oh !  I  have  greatly  wronged 
him ;  I  know,  I  feel  I  have." 

Her  countenance  lighted  up  gloriously  as  she  spoke. 

"  Florence,  I  do  believe  you  are  right.  Warland  is  inca 
pable  of  this  baseness.  When  I  think  of  the  years  we  have 
passed  together,  during  which  his  character  grew  brighter  and 
purer,  I  feel,  with  you,  the  impossibility  of  his  having  com 
mitted  an  act  like  this.  We  have  the  power  to  vindicate  him. 
Where  are  his  letters  ?  Let  us  compare  the  handwriting, 
word  with  word,  letter  with  letter.  If  it  be  forgery,  I  can  de 
tect  it  at  once." 

With  an  eager  hand,  Florence  opened  her  precious  rosewood 
cabinet,  and  drew  forth  the  packet,  bound  with  a  cerulean  rib 
bon.  She  shivered  as  she  handed  it  to  him,  and  her  touch  was 
like  contact  with  ice. 

"Wait  one  moment,  brother,"  she  cried;  "this  is  an 
awful  moment.  Leave  me  still  in  doubt.  Doubt!  how  I 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  219 

despise  myself  for  the  word.  My  faith  in  him  shall  not 
•waver." 

Delaval,  impatiently  snatching  a  letter  from  the  parcel,  un 
folded  it  by  the  side  of  the  crumpled  paper  he  held  in  his 
hand,  and  carefully  compared  them,  ^vord  with  word,  letter 
witli  letter.  Florence  leaned  over  his  shoulder,  bending  her 
head  lower  and  lower,  her  lately  illumined  countenance  grow 
ing  darker  and  darker,  as  the  irresistible  conviction  forced 
Itself  upon  her,  that  they  were  written  by  the  same  hand. 
Delaval  raised  his  eyes  one  moment  to  hers,  and  she  read  the 
same  conviction  in  that  stern,  yet  burning  glance. 

"  No,  this  is  no  forgery/'  he  cried.  "  The  circumstances 
to  which  this  letter  refers  are  known  only  to  him,  Patterson, 
and  myself.  Even  if  the  characters  did  not  prove  it  with 
such  damning  fidelity,  the  contents  would  be  sufficient.  I 
knew  that  he  was  to  address  him  on  this  very  subject.  Here  are 
the  very  words  I  myself  uttered  the  last  time  I  conversed 
with  him.  I  never  breathed  them  to  another  human  being. 
I  requested  him  to  repeat  the  same  to  Patterson.  Yes;  these  are 
my  own  words,  and  this  is  his  own  handwriting.  And,  look, 
Florence,  the  selfsame  paper,  too,  with  his  ciphers  stamped 
upon  it.  He  got  it  at  the  North.  We  visited  the  paper-mill 
together  where  it  was  made,  and  both  of  us  ordered  some  with 
our  initials  pressed  on  the  corner  of  the  sheet.  Florence,  he 
is  a  villain.  Every  shadow  of  a  doubt  is  swept  away.  He  is 
a  most  consummate  villain." 

"  No,"  she  replied,  with  bloodless  lips,  "  I  recall  my  own 
rash  words.  He  has  revealed  his  naked  heart  to  another,  not 
to  me.  I,  I  have  done  the  whole.  I  have  outraged  his  deli 
cacy,  alienated  his  affection,  and  with  my  own  hand  murdered 
his  love.  And  yet,"  she  added,  with  a  kindling  countenance, 
"  how  dare  he  attempt  to  transfer  me  to  another?  How  dare 
he  insult  me  so  coldly,  so  deliberately?  This  I  never, 
never  can  forgive." 

While  Florence  was  speaking,  the  truth  of  what  she  had 
previously  said  came  forcibly  into  the  mind  of  Delaval.  This 


220  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

was  a  private  letter,  not  intended  for  their  perusal ;  it  was  the 
expression  of  one  man's  feelings  to  another;  the  liberty  of 
mind,  the  republicanism  of  thought.  By  a  public  act  of  ven 
geance,  he  would  only  blazon  the  aifair  to  the  world,  and  make 
his  sister's  name  a  byword,  to  be  banded  from  lip  to  lip  with 
mockery  and  reproach.  Blood  would  not  efface  the  impres 
sion.  It  would  only  give  it  a  more  hideous  glare. 

"  Yes,"  muttered  he  to  himself,  "  she  is  right.  There  are 
some  wrongs  that  cannot  be  avenged,  and  this  is  one.  It  is 
no  wonder  he  looks  down  upon  us,  when  we  have  worshipped 
him  as  if  he  were  some  eastern  divinity.  Heavens,  Florence  !" 
he  exclaimed,  walking  backward  and  forward,  like  a  caged 
lion,  "  I  would  give  Wood  Lawn,  and  all  the  lawns  in  crea 
tion,  if  I  owned  them,  that  I  had  never  abetted  you  in  your 
wild  frolic  of  writing  those  foolish  letters,  and  still  more  do  I 
mourn  your  infatuation  in  assuming  that  romantic  and  an- 
heard-of  disguise.  I  ought  to  be  shot  this  moment,  foi  not 
proving  a  better  guardian  to  your  reckless  youth.  We  have 
made  him  arrogant  and  presumptuous  j  we  have  forgotten  our 
own  self-respect." 

"  Do  not  say  we,  George,"  said  Florence,  in  a  tone  of  deep 
and  touching  humility.  "  Mine  alone  is  the  folly,  and  mine 
alone  be  the  punishment.  Most  bitterly  have  I  repented  of 
my  girlish  forwardness ;  but  I  was  a  mere  child  then,  a  crea 
ture  of  impulse  and  passion.  Alas  !  I  am  still  the  same ;  the 
same  impulsive,  impassioned  being,  untaught  by  experience, 
and  undisciplined  by  reason." 

"  Experience  I"  cried  Delaval,  with  bitterness.  "  Moralists 
boast  of  the  great  world, — master  experience, — but  I  never 
could  discover  his  merits.  He  warns  us  of  the  past,  but  we  know 
that  already.  His  lamp  throws  all  its  rays  backward.  I  want 
a  guide  for  the  future ;  and  such  a  future  ?  Shade  of  Cicero  I" 

Delaval  threw  himself  on  the  window-seat,  and  endeavoured 
to  compuse  his  thoughts  and  deliberate  on  the  course  he  must 
adopt  The  only  way  was  for  Florence  to  return  the  letters 
of  Marcus,  with  every  memorial  of  his  false  love,  with  a  haughty 


THE   LONG  MOSS   SPRING.  221 

and  positive  rejection,  without  any  allusion  to  the  disgraceful 
letter  which  had  providentially  revealed  his  true  character. 
But  Katy;  sweet,  modest,  gentle,  loving  Katy !  How  could 
he  tear  her  from  his  heart, — that  warm,  noble,  generous  heart, 
where  she  was  so  sacredly  enshrined  ?  The  sister  of  that  false, 
rejected  brother  would  never  consent  to  be  his  wife.  His  letters 
would  be  returned,  just  as  that  perfumed  blue-bound  packet  was 
about  to  be ;  the  rings  with  which  he  had  encircled  her  fair 
fingers,  the  bracelets  he  had  clasped  round  her  snowy  arms, — 
they  would  all  come  back,  mocking  him  with  the  memory  of 
his  past  happiness,  the  thought  of  his  brightest  hopes.  Wood 
Lawn  would  henceforth  be  a  desert  to  him,  the  whole  world 
a  wilderness.  He  had  a  strong  mind  to  shoot  himself,  he  had 
not  promised  Florence  not  to  do  that.  He  could  do  it  without 
perjury,  but  not  without  guilt, — guilt  "  unhouselled,  un- 
anointed,  unannealed;"  so  God's  voice  within,  still,  small,  but 
deep,  whispered,  and  he  groaned  at  the  thought  of  the  cold, 
dreary,  unloving  life  he  was  doomed  to  lead. 

"  You  are  unhappy,  brother ;  I  have  made  you  so,"  said 
Florence,  taking  his  hand  in  both  hers,  and  laying  her  cheek 
gently  upon  it.  "  You  must  not  give,  up  Katy  for  me.  She 
is  not  to  blame ;  /only  am.  Rash,  imprudent  girl  that  I  am. 
I  have  brought  this  on  myself.  I  feel  it  now,  when  it  is  too  late." 

Delaval  drew  her  closer  to  him.  She  had  been  rash  and 
imprudent.  He  had  told  her  that  before;  but  he  could  not 
reproach  her  now.  He  felt  too  deep  a  tenderness,  too  entire 
a  love,  too  intense  a  compassion.  They  sat  thus  in  silence — • 
she  weary  and  exhausted  by  her  passion  and  her  tears,  thank 
ful,  in  her  abandonment  and  desolation,  that  one  friend  was 
left  to  sympathize  with  and  care  for  her,  one  breast  on  which 
she  could  pillow  her  aching  head  and  solace  her  wounded  heart. 

"  You  had  better  go  to  your  room,  Florence,"  said  he, 
gathering  up  her  dishevelled  hair  and  smoothing  it  back  from 
her  shoulders.  "  Some  one  might  come  in.  Go  and  lie  down. 
Your  head  must  ache.  I  need  not  caution  you  not  to  reveal  the 
cause  of  your  agitation.  You  have  too  much  pride  to  betray  it." 


222  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

"  Thank  you  for  the  warning ;  I  will  profit  by  it,"  said  she, 
with  a  sudden  flash  of  spirit,  "and  thank  you  for  your  ten 
derness,  your  sympathy,  and  your  promise  too — dear,  dear 
George — oh  !  how  I  love  you  for  it !  I  have  no  one  else  in  the 
world  to  love. but  you,  now — for  I  cared  but  for  one  besides,"  she 
added,  in  a  low  voice,  as  she  left  the  apartment. 

Alone  in  her  own  room,  she  threw  herself  on  the  bed,  and 
drawing  the  fringed  curtains  closely  round  her,  wrapped  her 
self  in  darkness  as  with  a  mantle.  She  knew  not  when  night 
came  on,  for  Delaval  had  told  Letty  not  to  have  her  disturbed, 
as  she  was  ill,  and  wanted  no  supper.  Mrs.  Lewis  was  absent 
on  a  visit  to  a  friend — a  fortunate  circumstance  for  Florence 
and  the  mystery  of  her  grief. 

"  Is  that  you,  Letty  1"  asked  she,  hearing  footsteps  enter 
ing,  and  perceiving  the  glimmer  of  a  light  through  the  curtains. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Florence,  it's  me.    Shall  I  bring  your  supper  ?" 

"  No ;  come  here,  Letty."  The  negro  put  down  the  light, 
and  came  softly  toward  the  bed,  peeping  through  the  curtains. 

"  Letty,"  said  Florence,  holding  out  her  hand,  "  I  spoke 
crossly  to  you.  I  did  not  know  what  I  was  saying ;  you  must 
forget  it." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Florence,  don't  say  that.  I  no  business  to  stick 
my  ugly  nose  in  your  matters,  any  way — that  I  haint.  I  wish 
I  pull  out  my  tongue,  I  do — saucy  old  thing." 

"  Undress  me,  Letty,  and  let  me  sleep.  You  don't  know 
how  sick  I  feel." 

Tenderly  as  if  she  were  fondling  an  infant,  Letty  prepared 
her  young  mistress  for  the  night's  repose,  which  she  feared 
would  not  visit  her  pillow.  She  combed  and  brushed  her  rich, 
tangled,  tear-moistened  locks,  letting  them  drip  over  her  black 
fingers,  in  blacker,  shining  curls.  There  was  nothing  in  the 
world  in  which  she  delighted  so  much  as  this,  and  though  her 
features  were  so  large  and  coarse,  she  had  remarkably  small 
and  delicately-shaped  fingers,  and  her  touch  was  as  light  as  the 
fabulous  Rosa's. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Florence,  suffering  her  head  to  fall  Ian- 


THE  LONG  MOSS   SPRING.  223 

guidly  tack  on  the  pillow.  "  That  is  soothing.  You  are  a 
good  creature,  Letty.  I- will  try  never  to  speak  cross  to  you 
again.  Don't  say  any  thing." 

Letty  placed  the  lamp  in  the  chimney,  where  it  could  not 
shine  on  the  face  of  her  young  mistress,  and  seating  herself  at 
a  distance,  remained  perfectly  still.  Florence  too  was  still. 
It  was  the  torrent's  smoothness,  after  it  has  dashed  over  the 
rocks — the  lull  of  the  tempest,  when  its  fury  has  spent. 

She  slept — but  it  was  not  rest.  Every  now  and  then  she 
would  start  up,  with  a  faint  scream,  look  wildly  round  her, 
close  her  eyes  and  fall  back  again.  Once  she  cried  out,  "  The 
letter — oh  !  Marcus — that  letter  I" 

Letty  sat  in  her  shaded  corner,  and  "  pondered  these  things 
in  her  heart." 

Florence  rose  at  the  usual  hour,  and  suffered  Letty  to  linger 
with  unusual  care  over  her  toilette.  Though  her  head  throbbed 
almost  to  bursting,  she  allowed  her  tire-woman  to  twist  the 
wild  undulation  of  her  tresses  around  her  fingers,  as  she  was 
wont  to  do.  When  she  looked  in  the  glass  and  saw  her  pallid 
cheek  and  altered  countenance,  she  blushed,  indignant  at  her 
own  weakness,  and  the  life  came  back  to  her  cheek  and  eye. 
Delaval  met  her  at  the  door  of  the  breakfast-room  with  a 
brotherly  kiss.  He  was  rejoiced  to  see  her  looking  so  much 
like  herself,  and  his  own  stern,  joyless  countenance  bright 
ened  as  he  gazed  upon  her.  But  after  the  first  greeting  was 
over,  and  she  believed  herself  unnoticed,  he  remarked  the 
gradual  subsiding  of  her  spirit.  The  colour  all  went  away 
from  her  cheek,  and  she  sat  with  weeping  lashes,  that  threw  a 
deeper  pallor  on  her  pensive  face. 

"Come  and  take  a  ride  on  horseback  with  me,  sister,"  said 
he,  when  the  breakfast  was  through,  which  she  scarcely  touched. 
"  I  want  to  show  you  what  wonders  I  have  done  on  the  planta 
tion  since  I  have  taken  the  reins  in  my  own  hand.  That 
fine  jaunt  I  had  with  Arnold's  negroes  was  an  excellent  ap 
prenticeship  for  me.  They  thought  I  was  a  jewel  of  a  master." 

Florence  appreciated  her  brother's  motive,  and  gladly  ao 


224  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

companied  him.  She  wanted  to  get  away  from  herself.  She 
would  have  gone  to  the  world's  end,  if  she  could  have  reached 
it.  It  was  astonishing  how  her  life  came  back  to  her,  when 
she  went  out  into  the  open  air  on  a  light-footed  pony.  The 
haughty  spirit  that  sustained  her  of  yore  returned  to  its  former 
dwelling-place  in  her  bosom.  She  would  not  weep,  and  sigh, 
and  pine,  for  an  ingrate,  unworthy  of  woman's  generous,  un- 
calculating,  self-forgetting  love.  She  would  rend  him  from 
her  heart,  though  half  of  the  quivering  member  were  torn  away, 
with  the  image  it  enshrined.  She  would  drink  of  the  cold 
waters  of  Lethe,  and  find  a  blessed  nepenthe  for  a  wounded 
spirit.  Thus  she  resolved,  and  thus,  in  the  presence  of  others, 
she  appeared  to  feel  and  act ;  but  when  alone,  she  lived  over 
again  the  fleet,  blissful  dream  of  the  past,  and  nature  vindi 
cated  its  rights.  Then,  her  mighty,  unconquerable  love 
soared  above  the  remembrance  of  ingratitude,  scorn,  and  con 
tempt.  It  was  a  love  like  that  which  mourns  for  the  dead ; 
for  he  whom  she  loved  no  longer  existed.  A  bright  ideal,  it 
had  vanished,  and  left  a  vacuum  the  whole  world  could  not  fill. 

It  was — as  if  the  desert  bird, 
Whose  beak  unlocks  her  bosom's  stream, 
To  still  her  famish'd  nursling's  scream, 
Nor  mourns  a  life  to  them  transferr'd — 
Should  rend  her  rash,  devoted  breast, 
And  find  them  flown  her  empty  nest." 

She  had  one  task  to  perform  which  she  dreaded,  but  would 
not  defer.  To  gather  all  the  mementoes  of  her  ill-directed 
attachment;  to  return  his  letters  and  pledges  of  love;  to  de 
stroy  the  faded  flowers  she  had  been  treasuring  as  holy  relics. 
She  took  from  her  finger  a  ruby  ring,  the  token  of  his  plighted 
faith,  and  drew  through  it  the  golden  chain  which  he  had 
passed  round  the  neck  of  Rosa.  The  ruby  was  her  favourite 
gem.  Its  glowing  hue  heightened  the  dark  splendour  of  her 
beauty,  and  was  an  appropriate  emblem  of  love.  Now,  as  she 
looked  for  the  last  time  on  a  pledge  she  had  thought  would 
remain  on  her  finger,  even  under  the  dark  coffin-lid,  it  seemed 
to  emit  a  bleeding  radiance,  and  she  could  almost  fancy  it  owed 
its  crimson  tint  to  drops  of  blood.  The  letters  she  would  not 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  225 

read,  lest  a  re-perusal  of  pages  so  fraught  with  fascination 
should  soften  her  purpose,  and  unfit  her  for  the  stern  duty  be 
fore  her.  Her  task  was  finished ;  the  few  decisive  words  writ 
ten  ;  the  packet  sealed,  directed,  and  ready  to  be  sent.  Then 
she  sat  down,  and  shuddered  at  the  blank  before  her.  A 
Peruvian  worshipper,  who  beheld  the  god  whom  he  adored 
abdicate  his  mid-day  throne,  and  leave  to  darkness  the  regency 
of  the  universe,  could  hardly  feel  more  appalled  and  chilled 
by  the  desolation  of  his  temple ;  more  sad  for  its  departed  glory. 

The  more  she  reflected,  the  more  she  blamed  herself,  and 
exculpated  him.  She  had  shocked,  disgusted  him,  by  the 
greatness  of  her  love.  From  the  time  when,  a  wild,  impulsive 
girl,  she  had  met  him  by  the  wayside  fountain,  and  felt  that 
strong,  irresistible  attraction  which  modern  philosophy  vainly 
attempts  to  explain,  and  addressed  to  him  those  anonymous 
letters,  to  the  moment  the  paper  destined  to  reveal  herself  to 
herself  in  a  true  light  fell  at  her  feet,  that  love  had  been 
growing  stronger,  deeper,  fuller.  It  was  too  strong,  too  deep 
for  the  narrow  channel  in  which  custom  had  forced  it.  It  had 
dashed  over  some  conventional  restraints,  some  ancient  land 
marks,  and  flowed  on  in  the  strength  and  joy  of  its  waves. 

Why,  when  she  heard  that  he  was  wounded  and  dying,  a 
stranger  in  a  strange  place,  did  she  not  do  as  others  of  a  colder 
temperament  would  have  done,  content  herself  by  shedding  a 
few  unavailing  tears,  and  wishing  she  were  privileged  to  mi 
nister  to  his  sufferings  ?  Why,  disguising  the  heiress  under 
the  form  of  an  humble  mulatto,  protected  only  by  the  faithful 
Letty,  had  she  pressed  on  through  unknown  difficulties  to  be 
with  him  in  sickness  and  danger,  perhaps  in  death  ?  Her  self- 
devotion,  her  matchless  love,  how  had  it  been  repaid  ?  With 
scorn  and  loathing,  that  neither  gratitude  nor  former  love  could 
triumph  over.  She  had  believed  her  disguise  impenetrable — 
her  secret  unrevealed.  But  Marcus  had  penetrated  the  one, 
and  revealed  the  other. 

She  must  endure  the  shame,  and  bear  the  cross  she  had  laid 
upon  herself.     She  must  suffer  the  agonies  of  martyrdom  with- 
06 


226  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

out  its  crown.  She  would  walk  the  lonely  path  she  had  herself 
strewed  with  thorns;  and  though  her  feet  might  bleed,  and  her 
spirit  faint  from  pain  and  weariness,  she  would  not  murmur, 
but  trust,  that  chastened  by  suffering,  she  might  at  last  reach 
some  quiet  spot — 

"  Where  storms  of  passion  never  blow, 
Temptations  never  come." 

Such  were  the  thoughts  of  the  young,  rich,  and  beautiful 
Florence,  while  she  imagined  no  human  eye  beheld  her  in  the 
solitude  of  her  lamp-lighted  chamber. 

But  Letty,  though  stretched  on  her  pallet,  which  was  spread 
every  night  in  the  apartment  of  her  young  mistress,  watched 
every  change  of  her  varying  and  expressive  countenance  with 
unsleeping  interest. 

Florence  caught  a  glimpse  of  one  of  her  big,  revolving  eyes, 
above  the  bed-cover,  and  extinguished  the  lamp.  Still  the 
negro  gazed  on  her  starlit  profile,  and  continued  her  musings. 
She  was  trying  to  solve  an  enigma,  and  had  any  one  asked  her 
by  what  mental  process  she  arrived  at  certain  conclusions,  she 
would  have  answered,  like  a  mathematical  prodigy  of  her  own 
colour,  "  I  just  studies  it  out." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"'Tis  a  noble  youth,"  the  people  spake, 

"  Thou  need'st  be  afraid, 
For  all  oppress'd  and  injured  men 

Fly  unto  him  for  aid. 
"  Now,  where  is  one  shall  do  us  right  ?" 

A  widow  pale  she  cried — 
"  Oh  !  where  is  one  to  take  my  part, 

Against  the  men  of  pride  ?" — MARY  HOWITT. 

IP  almost  unexampled  success  could  produce  elation  and 
vainglory,  Marcus  Warland  was  in  danger  of  inordinate  self- 
esteem.  Circumstances  had  favoured  in  a  remarkable  manner 
his  opening  career.  Theft,  forgery,  and  murder  seemed  to 
have  made  the  scene  of  his  labours  their  head-quarters,  so  that 
•he  young  champion  of  the  majesty  of  the  law  might  test  the 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  ^  227 

keenness  and  strength  of  the  weapons  with  which  he  armed 
himself  for  its  defence.  He  had  that  open-sesame  to  the  ca 
verns  of  mind ;  that  golden  key  to  the  chambers  of  the  heart; 
eloquence,  native  eloquence,  the  gift  of  God,  not  man. 

"  His  was  the  glorious  burst  of  winged  words,"  that  bear  on 
their  rush  the  listening  throng.  His  was  the  burning  glance, 
that,  like  a  living  coal  from  the  altar,  kindled  the  spirits  of 
his  listeners,  and  his  the  persuasive  lip  that  distilled  the  honey 
of  Hybla's  scented  fields.  He  knew  his  power,  and  was  con 
scious  that  the  time  was  fast  approaching  when  he  could  offer  to 
Florence  a  name  of  which  even  her  proud  uncle  would  be  proud. 

He  was  at  this  time  engaged  in  a  most  interesting  trial.  A 
youth  of  about  seventeen  was  accused  of  the  murder  of  a  young 
female,  on  circumstantial  evidence.  He  had  a  widowed  mo 
ther,  and  he  was  her  only  son.  At  the  time  of  the  arrest, 
when  he  was  literally  dragged  to  prison,  for  he  resisted  with 
ndescribable  terror  the  power  that  had  grasped  him,  his  ago 
nized  glance,  sweeping  over  the  crowd  that  gathered  in  the 
street,  was  fixed  by  the  magnetic  eye  of  Marcus,  and  stretching 
out  his  arms  toward  him,  he  implored  him  for  the  love  of 
God  to  have  mercy  on  him,  and  save  him  from  the  scaffold. 
Notwithstanding  the  darkness  of  the  case,  and  the  strength  of 
evidence  against  him,  and  the  practice  of  criminals  to  endea 
vour  to  screen  their  guilt  under  vehement  assertions  of  inno 
cence,  Marcus  believed  in  the  possibility  of  his  being  stainless 
of  this  foul  crime.  His  compassion  was  excited  by  the  grief 
of  the  widowed  mother,  and  the  strong  affection  existing  be 
tween  her  and  her  imprisoned  son.  "  We  are  poor  and  lonely," 
cried  the  weeping  woman.  "  There  will  be  no  one  to  plead  in 
his  behalf.  My  Willie  will  be  sacrificed,  for  justice,  alas ! 
must  be  bought." 

"  I  will  undertake  his  defence,"  said  Marcus,  "  and  if  he  be 
innocent,  may  Heaven  assist  me  to  prove  it.  If  guilty,  may 
God  have  mercy  on  his  soul." 

Having  once  pledged  his  word,  he  laboured  as  assiduously 
to  make  himself  master  of  the  circumstances,  as  if  millions 


228  MARCUS  'WARLANDJ   OR, 

were  to  be  his  reward.  He  spared  neither  time,  nor  expense, 
nor  feeling.  He  mingled  with  the  dross  of  the  populace,  that 
he  might  extract  the  gold  of  truth. 

It  was  while  seated,  one  afternoon,  in  his'  office,  trying  to 
clench  some  fact  which  would  bear  strongly  on  the  case,  a  large 
packet  was  brought  to  him. 

"From  whom?" 

It  was  not  known.  The  messenger  was  gone,  without  wait 
ing  for  a  reply.  He  recognised  the  handwriting  of  Delaval  on 
the  covering,  and  hastily  broke  the  numerous  seals  by  which 
it  was  secured.  There  was  an  inner  covering,  but  between 
that  and  the  outer  envelope  was  a  note,  superscribed  by  the 
hand  of  Florence,  which  he  eagerly  unfolded.  It  contained 
but  these  few  lines  : 

"  MARCUS  WARLAND — Blushing  for  the  infatuation  from 
which  I  am  now,  henceforth  and  for  ever,  free,  I  return  your 
written  and  given  pledges,  and  demand  the  immediate  restora 
tion  of  my  own.  FLORENCE  DELAVAL." 

He  read  this  brief,  but  explicit,  note  several  times  before 
he  opened  the  second  envelope.  He  felt  every  word  burning 
in  the  central  fires  of  his  heart.  His  hands  were  cold,  his  face 
colourless,  but  without  a  single  exclamation  he  tore  away  the 
covering  from  his  letters,  and  the  golden  chain,  the  locket  with 
the  golden  hair,  and  the  ruby  ring,  fell  at  his  feet.  He  took 
up  the  chain,  and  recognised  his  parting  gift  to  the  gentle 
F,osa.  He  was  bewildered,  amazed.  How  came  it  in  the  pos 
session  of  Florence  ?  The  identity  of  Florence  with  the  young 
mulatto  had  never  entered  his  mind  before,  and  it  is  not 
strange  that  it  did  not  occur  to  him  at  this  moment.  But 
there  was  a  thought,  a  flashing  one,  that  seemed  to  throw 
light  on  the  inexplicable  insult  he  had  just  received.  Florence, 
by  some  means,  had  come  in  contact  with  Rosa,  and  learned 
the  history  of  this  token  of  gratitude,  so  poor,  so  small,  for  a 
devotion  so  entire,  a  debt  so  large.  She  had  taken  it  from 
her,  that  she  might  send  it  to  him,  as  an  explanation  of  her 


THE  LONG  MOSS   SPRING.  229 

renunciation  of  him.  Yes !  it  was  evident  that  the  proud, 
high-souled  Florence  was  jealous  of  the  poor,  too  sensitive 
mulatto,  who  had  humbly  craved  a  lock  of  his  hair,  that  hair 
which  she  had  so  often  smoothed  with  her  soft  hand,  when 
it  lay  moistened  with  the  dew  of  suffering.  The  heiress  of 
Wood  Lawn  considered  it  a  violation  of  her  rights,  and  she 
had  discarded  the  lover  whose  gratitude  to  a  menial  resembled 
the  demonstration  of  love.  The  mystery  was  thus  explained  : 
but  how  had  the  mighty  fallen  ;  how  had  the  fine  gold  become 
dim  !  Florence  suspected  him  of  the  basest  treachery ;  the 
most  degrading  inconsistency ;— suspected  him,  Marcus  War- 
land — him  whom  she  knew  so  well.  The  pallor  of  his  face 
became  suffused  with  deepening  crimson ;  his  icy  fingers  tin 
gled  with  a  burning  sensation.  Too  nobly  self-reliant  himself 
to  admit  of  the  existence  of  jealousy,  he  could  not  tolerate  its 
dominion  over  another — and  that  other  one  whom  he  believed 
lifted  high  above  the  little  foibles  of  her  sex.  He  sat  down, 
and  leaning  his  head  on  his  hands,  tried  to  think  calmly  of 
the  rashness  and  injustice  of  which  Florence  had  been  guilty, 
and  his  meditations  terminated  in  a  feeling  of  tenderness  and 
compassion  for  her  strange  delusion.  His  idol  had  fallen  from 
the  pedestal  of  perfection  on  which  he  had  elevated  her,  but 
she  was  his  idol  still.  He  had  worshipped  her  as  an  angel,  but 
she  was  after  all  only  a  woman — full  of  woman's  impassioned 
emotions,  and  liable  to  all  a  woman's  weaknesses.  He  blamed, 
he  pitied,  but  he  loved  her  still.  A  few  words  of  explanation 
from  his  pen  would  dissipate  the  error,  and  restore  her  lost  con 
fidence.  With  a  lofty  consciousness  of  his  own  unwavering  con 
stancy,  and  a  generous  forgiveness  of  the  rash  impulse,  for 
which  he  doubted  not  she  was  even  now  upbraiding  herself,  he 
took  his  pen  and  wrote  as  they  only  write  who,  as  a  beautiful 
writer  has  observed,  "  dip  their  pen  in  their  own  hearts  " 
He  gave  a  brief  history  of  his  obligations  to  Rosa,  and  the  cir 
cumstances  under  which  he  gave  her  the  token  she  had  so 
mysteriously  obtained.  He  dwelt  on  the  beautiful  and  holy 
confidence  of  their  past  intercourse ;  the  purity  and  depth  of 


230  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

their  love  ;  and  besought  her  to  beware  of  the  influence  of  that 
serpent  passion,  which  poisoneth  like  an  asp,  and  stingeth  like 
an  adder.  After  a  simple  statement  of  facts,  and  an  eloquent 
appeal  to  her  truth  and  sensibility,  he  asked  her  if  she  ad 
hered  to  her  renunciation  and  repeated  her  demands.  The 
letter  was  written,  sealed,  put  in  the  mail,  and  Marcus  tried  to 
forget  it,  and  give  his  sole  attention  to  the  human  life  that 
hung  on  the  result  of  his  investigations.  He  locked  the  packet 
and  the  locket  in  his  cabinet,  that  he  might  not  be  reminded 
of  the  weakness  of  L' eclair.  He  saw  the  ruby  ring  sparkling 
on  the  floor,  and  stooping  down  and  picking  it  up,  he  placed 
that  also  with  the  oifendiug  chain.  As  he  did  so,  his  eye  fell 
on  the  ruby  gem  which  Mrs.  Bellamy  had  put  on  his  finger 
when  he  was  about  to  be  exposed  to  the  temptations  of  a  col 
lege  life.  He  went  back  still  further,  and  thought  of  the  mo 
ment  when  she  had  kissed  his  brow  in  the  little  cabin  on  the 
banks  of  the  Chattahoochee.  From  that  moment  to  the  pre 
sent  hour,  her  love,  which  had  known  no  variableness  nor 
change,  had  been  around  and  about  him  as  a  shield  and  a  charm. 

"  No  voluntary  act  of  mine,"  thought  the  young  man,  rais 
ing  the  sacred  talisman  to  his  lips,  "  has  ever  paled  the  lustre 
of  this  glowing  gem,  or  caused  the  blush  of  shame  on  the  cheek 
of  my  beloved  benefactress.  Oh !  misguided  L' eclair !  I  could 
mourn  in  dust  and  ashes  over  thy  broken  trust  and  my  own 
vanished  dream  of  perfection." 

During  the  days  that  must  intervene  before  he  could  re 
ceive  an  answer  to  his  letter,  he  laboured  for  his  poor  young 
client  with  increasing  zeal.  He  rode  fifty  miles  for  a  witness, 
whose  testimony  would  have  weight  at  the  trial.  He  visited 
the  accused  in  his  grated  cell,  determined,  as  he  had  em 
braced  his  cause,  to  believe  him  innocent  till  he  was  proved 
guilty  beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt.  He  went  to  the  broken 
hearted  widow,  and  breathed  into  her  fainting  spirit  comfort 
and  resignation.  Poor  and  insignificant  seemed  his  own  sor 
row  compared  to  the  mighty  interests  they  had  at  stake. 

The  very  morning  of  the  trial,  the  letter  arrived.     With  an 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  231 

agitated  hand  he  brqke  the  seal.  His  own  unopened  letter 
dropped  from  the  envelope — his  own  heart  thrown  back  into 
his  face  !  Never  had  the  countenance  of  Marcus  worn  such  an 
expression  before.  Never  but  once  had  such  a  whirlwind  of 
passion  raged  in  his  bosom ;  and  that  was  when  the  black- 
bearded  speculator  raised  his  whip  over  his  head,  while  he  was 
defending  Milly  from  his  lawless  clutches.  Tearing  the  letter 
into  a  thousand  pieces,  he  threw  the  fragments  from  the  win 
dow  to  the  four  winds  of  heaven,  and  exclaimed,  "  Thus  do  1 
rend  from  my  bosom  every  trace  of  my  boyhood's  folly  and 
youth's  delusion  !  Thus  do  I  shatter  the  image  too  wildly 
worshipped  !  Truth,  justice,  humanity,  I  am  henceforth  yours. 
To  you  I  devote  the  strength  of  my  manhood,  my  powers  of 
mind,  body  and  soul.  On  your  sacred  altars  I  pour  the  obla 
tion  of  my  heart' s-blood,  I  lay  the  offering  of  my  crucified  affec 
tions.  0  thou  God  of  truth  !"  continued  he,  as  the  responsi 
bilities  of  the  hour  rolled  back  upon  his  memory,  "  let  not  my 
faculties,  at  this  awful  moment,  be  darkened  by  the  clouds  of 
passion.  Let  them  be  clear,  and  strong,  and  irresistible,  that 
innocence  may  come  forth  uninjured  from  the  lion's  den  of  op 
pression,  and  the  majesty  of  a  sin-avenging  law  be  sustained 
in  the  sight  of  God  and  man." 

Under  the  influence  of  the  most  powerful  excitement,  Mar 
cus  entered  the  court.  It  was  already  crowded,  for  the  case 
was  one  which  awakened  the  deepest  interest  in  the  whole 
community.  The  youth,  sex,  and  personal  qualities  of  the 
murdered  female,  the  extreme  youth,  interesting  appearance, 
and  previously  unspotted  reputation  of  the  accused,  the  poor, 
widowed  mother,  and  the  brilliant  reputation  of  Marcus,  whose 
services  were  known  to  be  gratuitous,  all  created  an  eager  in 
terest  in  the  trial,  and  a  desire  to  witness  its  process.  The 
prisoner,  whose  name  was  Willie  Dale,  was  brought  in,  and 
led  to  the  customary  seat.  He  was  a  slender  youth,  with  an 
extremely  juvenile  countenance,  whose  pale  complexion  was 
contrasted  by  the  dark,  smooth  hair  parted  on  his  fair  fore- 
bead.  Fair  even  to  feminine  delicacy  was  his  young  face. 


232  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

How  nicely,  how  carefully  was  lie  dressed ! — with  his  snowy- 
white  collar  turned  back  from  his  neck,  and  a  black  rib 
bon  passing  underneath,  and  tied  in  a  loose,  graceful  knot 
in  front !  His  mother's  hand  has  arranged  those  shining 
locks,  which  had  acquired  a  rank  luxuriance  in  his  close,  damp 
cell.  He  looked  like  a  victim  adorned  for  sacrifice ;  and  there, 
in  a  corner  of  the  room,  sat  the  mother,  who,  with  maternal 
pride  struggling  with  her  despair,  had  adorned  her  darling, 
hoping  to  soften  the  stern  and  iron  justice  of  the  law  by  those 
juvenile  attractions  so  irresistible  in  her  own  estimation.  She 
sat  straining  her  swollen  and  bloodshot  eyes  on  the  face  of  her 
boy,  as  if  it  were  even  then  to  be  shut  out  from  her  sight  for 
ever.  The  hopes  which  she  had  nourished  in  her  bosom  went 
out  in  the  close  air  she  now  breathed,  and  at  the  sight  of  that 
dark-looking  throng.  There  was  something  too  in  the  face  of 
Marcus,  usually  so  hope-inspiring,  that  filled  her  with  dread. 
His  cheeks  were  flushed,  his  eye  had  a  burning,  restless  glance, 
and  there  was  a  sternness  on  his  brow  she  had  never  seen  be 
fore.  He  must  have  arrived  at  the  conviction  that  his  cause 
was  hopeless.  She  read  in  his  altered  countenance  the  death- 
warrant  of  her  son.  Willie  too,  who  had  been  accustomed  to 
find  encouragement  from  the  beaming  eyes  of  Marcus,  now, 
after  shrinking  back  from  the  curious  gaze  of  the  many,  the 
compassionate  glances  of  the  few,  turned  toward  him,  pale  and 
trembling,  ready  to  sink  with  new  and  vague  alarm.  Marcus 
met  that  look  of  pale  despair,  and  upbraiding  himself  for  his 
momentary  oblivion  of  him  in  his  self-absorption,  smiled  on  the 
heart-sick  boy,  and  raised  his  hand,  as  if  directing  him  to  seek 
support  from  on  high.  That  smile  seemed  to  the  accused  a 
glimpse  of  the  opening  heavens.  With  a  sickly  reflection  of 
its  lustre  on  his  wasted  features,  he  bent  his  head,  and  large 
drops,  gliding  downward,  dropped  on  his  white  collar. 

The  story  of  the  murder  and  the  circumstances  of  the  arrest 
were  these  :  Fanny  Bird,  a  very  pretty  and  interesting  or 
phan  girl,  was  apprenticed  to  a  mantuamaker,  by  whom  the 
Widow  Dale,  the  mother  of  Willie,  was  also  employed,  iu 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  233 

plain  needle-work.  Mrs.  Dale  lived  in  the  suburbs  of  the 
town,  and  Fanny  was  frequently  indulged,  at  the  approach  of 
night,  in  carrying  the  work  to  the  widow,  and  taking  back  that 
which  was  completed.  It  was  a  recreation  to  the  young  girl, 
after  being  confined  all  day  to  the  needle,  and  her  spirits,  na 
turally  elastic,  generally  rose  high,  during  these  twilight 
walks,  especially  when  young  Willie  Dale  was  her  companion. 
Willie  was  what  is  called  a  Printer's  devil,  though  in  appear 
ance  he  bore  a  much  greater  resemblance  to  the  children  of  light 
than  of  darkness.  The  evening  of  the  murder  Fanny  was 
seen  tripping  gayly  along,  with  a  bright  scarlet  shawl  thrown 
coquettishly  over  one  shoulder — (Fanny  was  fond  of  dress,  and 
whatever  she  wore  seemed  to  adorn  her  with  peculiar  grace) — 
and  a  bundle  of  white  linen  in  her  hands.  She  walked  through 
the  central  part  of  the  town,  and  down  a  narrow  alley  that  led 
to  the  more  unfrequented  portion  of  it.  She  had  to  pass  a 
thicket  of  pines,  with  an  undergrowth  of  young  oaks,  before 
reaching  the  dwelling  of  Mrs.  Dale.  It  was  at  the  entrance 
of  this  thicket  Willie  usually  met  her,  and  accompanied  her 
to  his  mother's.  She  was  seen  standing  and  talking  with  him 
just  on  the  edge  of  the  young  wood  about  sundown,  con 
spicuous  from  her  red  shawl  and  snowy-white  bundle,  among 
the  deep,  green  shades.  They  seemed  to  be  disputing  about 
something,  and  he  tried  to  take  something  from  her  hand, 
which  she  resisted.  About  a  half-hour  afterwards,  the  same 
gentleman  who  had  observed  them  standing  under  the  tall 
pine  trees,  in  returning  into  town,  was  startled  by  a  shrill, 
piercing  cry,  as  of  one  in  mortal  agony,  which  seemed  to  pro 
ceed  from  the  very  heart  of  the  thicket.  He  plunged  into  its 
shades,  and  right  on  the  brink  of  a  small  runnel  he  beheld, 
through,  the  thickening  shades  of  twilight,  the  lifeless  and 
bleeding  body  of  the  young  girl,  and  kneeling  by  her  side, 
holding  in  his  hand  a  dripping  knife,  a  knife  dripping  with 
her  blood,  was  the  boy.  The  scarlet  shawl  was  gone — the 
linen  roll  scattered  on  the  ground.  The  first  act  of  the  gen 
tleman  was  to  arrest  the  boy,  thus  detected,  as  it  were,  in  the 


234  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

very  act  of  murder.  In  vain  Willie,  with  frantic  shrieks, 
protested  his  innocence.  The  bloody  knife  found  in  his  hand 
he  had  purchased  that  very  afternoon,  at  a  well-known  store. 
This  fact  was  proved  by  attesting  witnesses,  and  it  was  suffi 
cient  to  seal  his  condemnation.  It  is  no  wonder  that  an  event 
so  tragic,  a  murder  that  seemed  so  motiveless,  should  have 
caused  a  terrible  sensation.  It  is  no  wonder  that  people 
gathered  at  the  corner  of  the  streets,  in  the  shops  and  public 
houses,  and  talked,  and  marvelled  as  they  talked.  Sweet 
Fanny  Bird  was  the  favourite  of  the  community,  and  so  strong 
and  swelling  was  the  public  indignation  against  Willie,  that 
had  he  not  been  shielded  by  the  influence  of  Marcus,  there 
was  danger  of  his  being  lynched  by  an  excited  mob. 

As  we  said  before,  the  hall  of  the  court-house  was  crowded, 
and  still  the  crowd  continued  to  increase.  A  large  portion  of 
the  audience  consisted  of  the  gentler  sex,  who  pleaded  their 
interest  in  the  youthful  criminal  as  an  excuse  for  attending  a 
scene  where  Marcus  Warland  was  to  display  his  unrivalled 
eloquence. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  go  through  all  the  minutiae  of  a  trial. 
Let  it  be  supposed,  that  the  presiding  judge  has  taken  his 
august  position,  that  the  jury,  in  duodecimal  dignity,  are 
ranged  before  him,  and  that  the  state-solicitor  and  counsel  for 
the  prisoner  have  their  appropriate  locations.  When  the  oath 
was  administered  to  the  accused,  and  pressing  his  pallid  lips 
to  the  sacred  volume,  Willie  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  and  de 
clared  with  a  clear,  firm  voice,  that  he  was  not  guilty,  a  low, 
sobbing  amen  was  heard  in  the  corner  where  his  mother  sat. 

The  evidence  against  the  prisoner  has  been  already  stated. 
The  chief  witnesses  were  the  shop-keeper  of  whom  he  had  pur 
chased  the  knife,  and  the  gentleman  who  had  made  the  dis 
covery  of  the  murdered  body,  over  which  he  was  holding  the 
reeking  weapon.  He,  the  last  named,  was  a  plain,  downright 
honest  man,  whose  testimony  was  clear  and  impressive,  and 
seemed  not  to  leave  the  faintest  doubt  of  the  guilt  of  the  pale 
boj.  who  looked  as  if  he  were  praying  for  the  mountains  to 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  235 

cover  him  from  the  gaze  of  loan.  And  well  he  might  pray, 
for  though  the  face  of  Marcus  had  recovered  its  usual  serenit}', 
it  was  but  one  beam  of  sunshine  mid  the  black  cloud  of  evi 
dence  closing  around  him.  The  people  looked  toward  Marcus, 
wondering  at  his  calmness,  when  he  had  risked  his  new-born 
reputation  in  so  hopeless  a  cause.  They  admired  his  disinte 
restedness  and  magnanimity,  but  wished  they  had  been  called 
forth  by  a  nobler  object.  The  feelings  of  compassion  that  the 
juvenile  appearance  and  sad  and  innocent-looking  countenance 
of  Willie  had  awakened  were  transferred  to  the  fair,  young 
orphan,  whose  bosom  his  knife  had  pierced,  whose  blood  had 
given  a  darker  tinge  to  the  gurgling  rill. 

The  witnesses  whom  Marcus  summoned  testified  to  the 
irreproachable  character  of  Willie,  as  well  as  the  industry  and 
piety  of  his  mother.  They  also  bore  testimony  to  the  strong 
affection  he  had  always  manifested  for  the  murdered  girl.  But 
no  evidence  was  brought  forward  to  neutralize  the  facts  that 
glared  before  the  eye  of  the  public.  His  previous  innocence 
and  virtue  only  made  his  crime  more  hideous  and  appalling  by 
force  of  contrast.  It  was  blood  on  a  snowy  surface,  looking 
more  red,  more  deadly  from  the  surrounding  whiteness.  Mak 
ing  a  sign  to  a  gentleman  who  was  near  him,  and  who  imme 
diately  left  the  court,  Marcus  rose,  and  every  eye  was  turned 
upon  him. 

"  I  perceive,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  said  he,  addressing 
them  with  a  serious,  earnest,  and  respectful  manner,  "that 
there  is  but  one  impression  in  regard  to  the  guilt  of  the  prisoner. 
As  far  as  human  judgment  is  concerned,  his  doom  is  sealed. 
On  your  solemn  brows  I  read  the  sternness,  the  inflexibility 
of  justice,  not  the  softness  of  compassion,  the  relenting  of  pre 
judice.  Nothing  has  been  brought  forward  in  his  defence  but 
the  evidence  of  a  spotless  life,  a  life  passed  in  acts  of  gentle 
ness  and  kindness,  filial  devotion,  obedience,  and  love.  A  boy 
in  the  early  bloom  and  springtime  of  his  life,  who  has  walked 
in  your  midst  in  the  paths  of  purity  and  peace,  who  has  never 
even  been  known  to  yield  to  those  passions  which  usually  swel* 


i..t*6  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

high  in  ibe  youthful  bosom;  stands  before  you  accused  of  one 
of  the  most  awful  and  unexampled  crimes  that  ever  blackened 
the  annals  of  human  guilt.  He  stands  before  you  in  the  innocence 
and  beauty  of  youth,  meek,  and  unmurmuring,  bowed  down 
by  the  weight  of  the  terrible  accusation,  which  might  well 
crush  a  giant's  strength.  You  have  heard  the  evidence  against 
him.  As  I  said  before,  lie  has  nothing  to  oppose  to  it  but  a 
blameless  life,  a  life  pure  from  the  faintest  tinge  of  evil,  whose 
every  act  belies  the  damning  accusation.  The  atrocious  crime 
of  having  purchased  a  knife  has  been  proved  by  attesting  wit 
nesses.  Every  other  boy  of  his  age  in  town  is  possessor  of  a 
similar  weapon.  Unfortunately,  in  this  southern  portion  of 
our  land  it  is  considered  a  necessary  badge  of  manhood,  and 
not  three  days  previous  to  this  awful  tragedy,  my  client  was 
mocked  by  some  of  his  juvenile  companions  for  being  destitute 
of  this  heroic  distinction.  "Wounded  by  an  insult  that  he  was 
too  gentle  to  resent,  in  an  evil  hour  he  purchased  the  accursed 
steel,  which,  by  a  fatal  coincidence  of  circumstances,  was  to 
prove  his  own  destruction.  With  the  glittering  instrument  in 
his  bosom,  whose  innocent  pulsations  never  before  had  pressed 
against  aught  so  cold  and  deadly,  he  went  out  in  the  soft  and 
balmy  twilight  to  meet  the  young  girl,  who  came  toward  his 
mother's  dwelling,  like  a  morning  sunbeam  gilding  the  even 
ing's  shade.  They  met  as  usual  beneath  the  lofty  pines,  in 
the  holy  hush  of  Nature's  resting  time,  with  every  sweet  and 
gracious  influence  coming  into  their  hearts,  with  the  silent 
dew  and  the  whispering  gale.  With  the  artless  exultation  of 
boyhood  he  exhibited  his  new-bought  treasure,  which  the  young 
girl  playfully  snatched  from  his  hand.  She  admired  its  gilded 
sheath  and  trenchant  blade,  but  she  refused  to  return  it,  de 
claring  it  was  too  keen,  too  dangerous  a  weapon  for  a  hand  so 
gefatle  and  so  young.  Hiding  it  beneath  the  folds  of  a  scarlet 
shawl,  of  gauze-like  texture,  but  brilliant  dye,  she  threatened 
to  carry  it  to  his  mother,  that  poor  widowed  mother,  whose 
sobs  are  even  now  distinctly  audible.  He  had  an  errand  which 
called  him  to  the  nearest  grocer,  and  telling  his  young  corn- 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  237 

panion  to  wait  for  him  in  the  thicket,  and  if  any  one  assaulted 
her,  to  defend  herself  with  the  weapon  she  had  purloined. 
With  a  bright  smile  and  rapid  step,  he  turned  away  to  execute 
his  filial  commission.  Once  again  he  looked  back,  drawn  by 
an  irresistible  impulse,  to  catch  one  more  glimpse  of  the  fair 
young  girl,  the  morning-star  of  his-  boyish  hopes  and  affection. 
As  he  saw  the  flutter  of  her  scarlet  drapery  through  the  dark 
foliage,  it  was  strange,  but  a  sudden  chilling  thought  of  blood 
came  into  his  mind.  He  wished  she  had  not  worn  that  gor 
geous  mantle.  He  shuddered  when  he  remembered  the  smil 
ing  grace  with  which  she  had  screened  the  knife  within  its 
bosom  folds.  He  was  detained  longer  than  he  anticipated, 
and  hurried  back  to  the  appointed  place  of  meeting.  God  of 
the  innocent !"  exclaimed  Marcus,  recoiling  as  if  he  beheld 
the  spectacle  he  was  describing.  "  What  a  sight  met  the 
eyes  of  that  fond,  loving  boy !  By  the  side  of  a  brooklet  that 
gurgles  through  the  thicket  lay  the  youthful  maiden,  the  life- 
blood  gushing  from  her  breast,  and  giving  a  gory  tinge  to  the 
blue  waters  murmuring  near.  His  own  knife  dripping  with 
blood  was  on  the  ground,  where  a  dark  pool  was  already 
formed.  With  a  loud,  piercing  shriek  of  agony,  the  boy  threw 
himself  at  her  side,  and  lifting  the  blood-stained  weapon, 
wildly  pressed  it  to  his  pale  and  quivering  lips.  At  that 
heart-rending  cry,  the  apparently  lifeless  girl  opened  for  one 
moment  her  glazing  eyes,  and  fixed  them  on  the  face  of  the 
young  lover,  who  would  have  died  a  thousand  times  over  to 
redeem  her .  from  death.  l  Oh,  Fanny,  Fanny  !'  exclaimed 
the  soul-stricken  boy,  '  would  to  God  I  had  died  for  thee  !' " 

Here  the  loud  sobs  of  Willie  interrupted  the  agitated  voice 
of  Marcus,  and  many  an  echo  was  heard  in  different  parts  of 
the  hall.  The  tide  of  sympathy  and  compassion  was  now  swell 
ing  and  rolling  toward  the  accused,  for  Marcus  was  swaying 
the  hearts  of  his  listeners,  and  bearing  them  on  with  him  as 
with  the  strength  of  a  mighty  wind. 

"And  now,  most  honoured  gentlemen,"  continued  the  pleader, 
"  I  appeal  to  you,  in  the  name  of  nature  and  of  nature's  God,  ( 


238  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

and  ask  you  if  you  can  believe  in  the  possibility  of  that  boy's 
guilt.  The  moment  I  saw  him,  when  he  stretched  out  his  im 
ploring  arms,  and  entreated  me  to  save  him  from  the  scaffold's 
doom,  I  felt  his  innocence  to  my  heart's  core.  Had  an  angel 
come  down  from  the  skies,  and  proclaimed  with  trumpet- 
tongue  his  freedom  from  crime,  my  conviction  could  hardly 
have  been  stronger  and  deeper.  The  statement  I  have  given 
you  I  received  from  him  in  his  grated  cell,  the  open  Bible 
before  him,  in  the  presence  of  his  weeping  mother  and  the 
great  and  invisible  God.  I  believe  it,  gentlemen.  I  believe 
every  word  of  it,  and  so  do  you.  I  read  it  in  your  altered 
glances;  the  softened  expression  of  your  grave  and  solemn 
countenances.  I  see  the  dawn  of  Christian  mercy  on  your 
stern  brows.  Some  monster,  concealed  in  the  shade  of  the 
thicket,  murdered  the  lonely  maiden,  and  robbed  her  of  the 
scarlet  mantle  that  probably  attracted  his  brutal  eye.  Strange 
how  little  stress  has  been  laid  on  the  mysterious  disappearance 
of  that  fatal  shawl !  a  fact  that  proves  irrefragably  that  other 
hands  than  Willie's  had  been  busy  in  the  dread  transaction. 
I  have  never  lost  sight  of  this  one  moment  since  I  enlisted  in 
the  cause.  It  was  by  this  I  was  resolved  to  prove  the  inno 
cence  of  my  client,  and  I  can  do  it.  I  wanted  first  to  appeal 
to  your  understandings  as  men ;  your  consciences  as  Christians ; 
your  hearts  as  fathers,  brothers,  and  sons.  I  wanted  you  to 
have  the  joy  and  pride  of  feeling  that  you  had  acquitted  him, 
even  before  conviction  was  forced  upon  you,  as  it  soon  will  be. 
For  there  may  be  a  case  brought  before  this  honourable  judge 
and  honourable  jury  when  the  decision  will  be  left  to  the 
judgment  of  man,  unsupported  by  the  facts  I  am  enabled, 
thank  God,  to  bring  forward.  Deal  gently,  cautiously,  gen 
tlemen,  with  human  life  and  human  feelings.  Think  of  the 
dark  hours  this  poor  boy  has  passed  in  the  prison  gloom  to 
which  he  has  been  consigned.  Think  of  the  visions  of  the 
tightening  cord ;  the  ignominious  scaffold ;  the  unhonoured 
grave  ;  tne  blasted  memory,  that  must  have  haunted,  like  hide 
ous  spectres,  hia  pallet  of  straw.  Think  of  the  anguish  of  a 


THE  LONG  MOSS   SPRING.  239 

widowed  mother,  whose  prayers  have  been  wearying  Heaven 
day  and  night  for  justice.  Justice  for  her  victim-boy  !  They 
can  never  be  indemnified  for  these.  -Years  may  roll  on  after 
years,  and  the  shadow  will  linger  over  their  hearts.  Yea, 
when  the  dark  locks  of  that  boy  are  whitened  with  the  frost  of 
age — if  God  grants  him  length  of  days — dark  memories  of  life 
will  eclipse  its  noonday  brightness ;  cold  memories  will  chill 
its  warmth,  and  all  beauty  and  gladness  will  pass  away  from 
earth.  Oh !  it  is  a  fearful  thing  for  frail,  fallible,  erring 
man,  to  sit  in  judgment  on  his  brother  man,  and  breathe  the 
words  which  may  cause  unquenchable,  undying  remorse 
through  the  unwasting  ages  of  eternity." 

He  paused,  and  so  deep  was  the  impression  created  by  his 
address,  it  is  more  than  probable  that  Willie  would  have  been 
acquitted  had  not  most  extraordinary  proofs  of  his  innocence 
been  produced. 

There  was  a  bustle  near  the  door,  and  the  gentleman  who 
had  disappeared  at  a  sign  from  Marcus,  re-entered,  dragging, 
rather  than  leading,  a  figure,  whose  appearance  caused  an  in 
stantaneous  sensation  in  the  whole  court.  Suppressed  laughter 
and  murmurs  of  astonishment  were  heard,  mingled  with  a 
slight  scream  from  the  ladies.  The  sheriff  called  to  "  order." 
The  judge  passed  his  hand  over  his  face  before  he  could  restore 
it  to  its  accustomed  gravity  of  expression.  The  new-comer 
was  indeed  a  most  extraordinary -looking  person,  such  as  per 
haps  was  never  before  called  into  a  court  of  justice.  It  was  a 
negro,  well  known  in  and  about  the  town  by  the  name  of  Idiot 
Ben,  one  of  those  unfortunate  beings  whom  the  Almighty  has 
set  apart  from  their  kind,  to  show  how  poor  and  degraded  is 
the  human  form  without  the  indwelling  deity  of  mind.  He 
was  hideously  ugly.  His  mouth,  of  tremendous  size,  resembled 
a  large  drawer  of  an  old-fashioned  mahogany  bureau,  and  out 
of  that  drawer  a  tongue  was  for  ever  hanging,  like  a  piece  of 
thick,  red  flannel,  for  it  was  of  most  surprising  redness,  pre 
senting  a  physiological  phenomenon  by  its  depth  of  hue. 
Hanging  his  head,  lolling  his  tongue,  and  shuffling  his  feet, 


240  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

Idiot  Ben  was  dragged  before  the  astonished  assembly,  at  the 
bidding  of  Marcus,  whose  countenance  retained  the  same  serene 
and  earnest  gravity  of  expression  it  had  worn  the  last  half  hour. 

The  state  solicitor  objected  to  the  admission  of  the  negro 
into  court.  His  colour  alone  would  prevent  him  from  bearing 
witness  ;  his  idiocy  from  taking  a  binding  oath.  He  was  asto 
nished  at  the  young  gentleman  for  introducing  so  strong  an 
anomaly  into  the  courts  of  justice. 

"  I  admit,"  said  Marcus,  "  all  the  learned  solicitor  has  ad 
vanced;  but  this  man,  black  and  idiotic  as  he  is,  will  make  the 
innocence  of  the  accused  appear  as  clear  as  the  noonday  sun. 
By  the  foolish  things  of  this  world  God  confoundeth  the  wis 
dom  of  the  wise.  To  talk  of  informality  at  a  moment  like 
this,  when  life,  that  God-given  life,  which  man  should  never 
lightly  take  away,  hangs  trembling  on  a  spider's  thread,  re 
minds  me — pardon  me,  sir,  for  introducing  the  incident — of 
the  drowning  gentleman,  who,  when  about  to  be  seized  by  the 
strong  arms  of  the  deliverer,  who  was  wrestling  with  the  waves 
for  his  rescue,  exclaimed,  '  Excuse  me,  sir,  I  have  never  had 
the  honour  of  being  introduced  to  you.' 

"  I  appeal  to  your  honour,"  continued  he,  turning  to  the 
judge,  with  a  dignity  which  sat  with  wonderful  grace  and  ease 
upon  his  youth ;  "  I  appeal  to  you,  sir,  in  the  name  of  the 
living  God,  not  to  allow  etiquette  and  formality  to  outweigh 
human  life  and  reputation  in  the  scales  of  justice.  I  demand 
permission  for  this  negro  to  remain  in  court.  I  demand  to  be 
sworn  as  a  witness  myself,  that  I  may  testify  to  facts  which, 
if  not  revealed  before  this  earthly  tribunal,  will  rise  up  in 
judgment  against  us  on  that  day  for  which  all  other  days 
were  made." 

The  judge,  admitting  the  truth  and  strength  of  this  appeal, 
bowed  his  head,  and  Marcus,  taking  the  solemn  oath  Idiot  Ben 
was  incapacitated  from  uttering,  placed  himself  by  the  witnesses 
who  had  been  examined.  As  he  passed  near  the  negro,  he 
drew  a  red  silk  handkerchief  from  his  bosom,  and  with  appa 
rent  carelessness  suffered  it  to  float  in  the  air.  Ben,  darting 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  241 

out  bin  tongue  like  a  great  black  serpent,  leaped  toward  it,  and 
grasped  it  with  both  hands. 

"  Btn  want  it,"  he  cried,  trying  to  put  it  in  his  mouth ; 
"  Ben  will  have  it." 

A  loud  murmur  went  through  the  hall.  The  excitement 
became  intense.  Marcus  suffered  the  handkerchief  to  remain 
in  the  grasp  of  the  now  grinning  idiot,  who  clutched  it  with 
maniac  violence,  rolling  his  eyes  from  one  side  to  the  other, 
while  he  tried  to  conceal  it  from  the  gaze  of  the  audience. 

"  You  have  now  witnessed,"  said  Marcus,  "  what  will  furnish 
a  clue  to  this  dark  mystery.  We  may  account  for  the  idiosyn- 
cracy  of  Idiot  Ben  in  some  measure,  by  observing  the  peculiar 
formation  of  his  head  and  neck.  It  is  well  known  that  the 
fierce  bull  is  attracted  by  the  hue  of  scarlet,  and  the  rabid  dog 
foams  with  more  demoniac  frenzy  at  the  sight  of  glowing  red. 
What  there  is  in  this  gorgeous  colour  to  inflame  the  passions 
of  wild  animals  I  cannot  define,  unless  it  is  its  similitude  to 
blood.  But  it  is  certain  that  the  head  of  this  unfortunate  ne 
gro  has  the  same  contour  as  the  bull,  and  his  neck  is  thick  and 
swelling  where  it  meets  the  chin,  like  the  terrible  bloodhounds. 
From  the  moment  I  heard  the  circumstances  of  the  murder,  a 
fact  which  seemed  to  have  but  little  weight  with  others  was 
a  subject  to  me  of  the  deepest  and  most  serious  consideration. 
I  was  convinced  that  the  same  hand  which  had  shed  the  blood 
of  the  maiden  had  robbed  her  bleeding  body  of  the  scarlet 
drapery  which  enfolded  it.  On  this  single  point,  I  knew, 
hung  the  life  of  my  young  client. 

"  One  evening,  about  the  hour  when  the  nightshades  begin 
to  fall,  I  was  passing  through  the  central  street,  and  found 
myself  opposite  the  very  store  where  the  prisoner  purchased 
the  fatal  knife  at  such  a  costly  price.  The  showy  articles 
which  hang  from  the  exterior  of  the  door,  to  attract  the  va 
grant  eye,  were  still  fluttering  in  the  breeze.  Among  them  I 
noticed  a  scarf  of  brilliant  scarlet,  and  crouching  near  it  was 
that  dark,  misshapen  form.  He  touched  the  scarf,  he  even 
lapped  the  bright  silk  with  his  huge  red  tongue.  Perceiving 
67 


242  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

my  eyes  fixed  steadfastly  upon  him,  he  skulked  away,  like  a 
poor  hungry  dog  detected  in  stealing  the  bone  he  covets.  I 
followed  him.  I  had  seen  this  unfortunate  and  apparently 
harmless  being  before,  sometimes  gazing  at  the  sun  with  that 
vacant  eye,  vacant  but  strong  and  unblinking  as  the  eagle's, 
and  sometimes  prowling,  like  the  forest  beast,  in  the  shadows 
of  the  woods.  '  Ben,  do  you  love  red  ?'  I  asked,  when  I  had 
overtaken  him.  '  Ben  loves  red/  he  immediately  answered, 
'  'cause  it  pretty.'  I  happened  to  have  in  my  pocket  a  hand 
kerchief  of  a  deep  crimson  dye,  resembling  the  one  he  is  now 
grasping  with  insane  delight.  I  held  it  toward  him,  watching 
his  countenance  as  I  did  so.  Its  dull  vacancy  changed  to  ani 
mal  rapacity.  I  retreated,  holding  the  handkerchief  beyond 
his  reach.  He  leaped  up,  endeavouring  to  clutch  it,  uttering 
•wild  and  unintelligible  exclamations.  At  length  I  yielded  it, 
and  with  a  low  chuckling  sound  of  exultation,  he  hid  it  in  his 
bosom.  ( What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it  ?'  I  inquired,  feel 
ing  that  I  had  found  the  clue  to  this  Egyptian  labyrinth  of 
crime.  '  Ben  hide  it,  but  Ben  no  tell  where/  replied  the 
idiot,  looking  at  me  with  the  ferocious  cunning  of  a  wild  beast. 
I  questioned  him  respecting  the  hiding-place  of  his  treasures, 
but  he  only  answered,  with  a  thousand  indescribable  grimaces, 
'  Ben  no  tell  where.' 

"Sir,  your  honour,"  continued  Marcus,  with  deepening 
earnestness)  "  you  may  be  assured  that  I  did  not  give  sleep  to 
my  eyes,  nor  slumber  to  my  eyelids,  till  my  suspicions,  or 
rather  my  belief  was  changed  to  conviction  and  certainty. 
Thank  heaven  !  it  was  a  moonlight  night,  and  the  rays  came 
down  in  silver  showers  on  the  shades  whose  depths  I  sought. 
It  was  the  thicket  where  the  smoke  of  innocent  blood  so  lately 
went  up  to  heaven,  giving  a  deeper  horror  to  the  conscious 
wood.  But  I  saw  not  the  form  of  the  murdered  maiden  flit 
ting  by  me  in  that  pale,  ghostly  lustre.  I  thought  of  the  im 
prisoned  boy,  over  whom  the  scaffold's  doom  was  impending. 
As  the  night-wind  blew  the  boughs  of  the  young  oaks  toward 
me,  they  seemed  to  me  the  outstretching  of  his  imploring 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  243 

arms.  In  the  murmurs  of  the  blood-stained  rill  I  heard  his  voice 
of  patient  agony.  Every  gray  rock,  that  was  movable  by  the 
hand  of  man,  I  hurled  from  its  ancient  throne,  in  search  of 
the  hiding-place  of  the  idiot's  treasures.  Among  those  young 
oaks  there  is  one  ancestral  tree,  which  towers  in  patriarchal 
majesty  above  its  verdant  children.  It  contains  a  hollow, 
round  which  the  green  leaves  form  an  almost  impervious  veil, 
and  which,  like  New  England's  charter  oak,  might  well  be 
converted  into  a  secret  cabinet.  Lying  at  the  foot  of  this  tall 
elder  of  the  forest,  I  beheld  the  Idiot  Ben,  with  his  tongue  of 
flame  gleaming  in  the  moonlight,  though  leaden  slumbers  closed 
his  eyes.  In  the  leafy  nest  I  have  described,  I  discovered  poor 
Fanny's  fatal  shawl,  with  a  piece  of  linen  dabbled  in  blood, 
and  wrapped  around  them  my  own  crimson  handkerchief!" 
Here  a  sudden  cry  from  Willie  drew  the  eyes  which  were  gaz 
ing  with  intense  excitement  on  Marcus  toward  the  boy,  whose 
innocence  was  now  manifest  to  all.  His  face  was  hueless,  and 
he  fell  forward  on  an  arm  that  was  involuntarily  extended  for 
his  support.  The  mother  tried  to  reach  him,  but  she  was 
wedged  in  by  the  crowd,  incapable  of  motion.  Water  was 
passed  from  hand  to  hand  till  it  could  be  applied  to  the  faint 
ing  prisoner,  fainting  from  the  sudden  transition  from  despair 
to  hope.  While  they  were  restoring  Willie  to  consciousness, 
the  judge  appointed  several  gentlemen  to  go  to  the  thicket, 
according  to  the  directions  of  Marcus,  and  bring  the  articles 
concealed  in  the  hollow  tree.  In  the  mean  time,  Marcus  re 
sumed  his  testimony. 

"  Your  honour  may  not  be  aware  that  Idiot  Ben  has  not 
long  been  a  denizen  of  our  town.  He  came  it  is  scarcely 
known  when,  whence  nobody  seemed  to  know.  Begging  from 
day  to  day  his  crust  of  bread  and  morsel  of  meat,  and  sleeping 
at  night  with  the  conies  in  the  rock  or  the  cattle  in  the  field, 
no  one  has  troubled  himself  about  his  aimless,  soulless  ex 
istence.  Obtaining  from  him  some  hint  with  regard  to  his 
former  place  of  residence,  and  following  the  indication,  I  have 
ascertained  that  this  is  not  the  first  time  that  his  mysterious  pas- 


244  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

eion  for  scarlet  has  led  him  on  to  deeds  of  blood  and  violence. 
This  gentleman  can  prove  the  truth  of  my  assertion." 

The  gentleman  to  whom  Marcus  referred  was  a  witness  he 
had  summoned  from  the  county  where  Idiot  Ben  formerly  re 
sided.  He  stated  that  a  few  years  before  the  community  of 
which  he  was  a  member  was  startled  by  a  murder  as  singular 
and  apparently  as  motiveless  as  the  one  now  under  judicial  ex 
amination.  A  little  child,  who  was  dressed  in  a  scarlet  frock, 
was  found  bathed  in  blood,  destitute  of  her  showy  garment. 
The  deepest  mystery  involved  the  transaction,  till  the  little 
red  garment,  stained  with  a  yet  deeper  red,  was  discovered  in 
the  possession  of  Ben,  who  was  immediately  arrested  and  im 
prisoned.  Soon  after  his  imprisonment,  several  white  men 
escaped  from  jail,  and  Ben  must  have  fled  at  the  same 
time.  Where  he  had  been  wandering  no  one  knew.  Nothing 
had  been  heard  of  the  unfortunate  creature  till  the  inquiries 
of  Marcus  concerning  him  recalled  the  remembrance  of  the 
dreadful  tragedy  of  which  he  had  been  the  hero. 

The  exhibition  of  the  shawl  and  blood-stained  linen  was 
hardly  necessary  to  confirm  the  innocence  of  Willie ;  but 
when  they  were  brought  in  court  and  unrolled  before  the 
judge  and  jury,  a  noise  went  through  the  hall,  like  the  dull 
roar  of  the  ocean.  But  when  Marcus,  with  an  irrepressible 
impulse,  seized  the  scarlet  mantle  and  waved  it  like  a  victori 
ous  banner  over  his  head,  and  Idiot  Ben,  protruding  his  red 
serpent-tongue,  shuffled  forward,  exclaiming,  "  That  are  Ben's 
— Ben  want  it — Ben  will  have  it,"  a  loud,  simultaneous  shout 
burst  forth  from  the  assembly,  reverberating  through  the  walls 
of  the  court-room,  and  rolling  out  of  doors  and  windows,  pro 
claimed  through,  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  street  and  public 
square  the  innocence  of  Willie. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  proceed  in  the  closing  details  of  a  trial 
which  terminated  in  the  triumphant  acquittal  of  the  prisoner, 
and  the  imprisonment  of  poor  Ben,  not  for  personal  punish 
ment,  but  public  safety.  The  populace,  in  their  enthusiasm, 
would  have  borne  Marcus  on  their  shoulders  from  the  hall,  if 


THE   LONCt   MOSS   SPRING.  245 

he  would  have  permitted  such  an  apotheosis ;  but,  baffled  iu 
their  attempt  to  deify  the  young  orator  whose  eloquence  had 
excited  them  to  momentary  intoxication,  they  seized  hold  of 
the  weak  and  slender  prisoner,  and  carried  him  aloft  with 
deafening  acclamations.  With  his  long,  dark  hair  floating  back 
from  his  white  forehead,  his  pale  face  lustrous  with  gratitude 
and  joy,  his  hands  and  eyes  uplifted  to  heaven,  in  a  kind  of 
devout  extasy,  Willie  was  borne  along  beyond  the  limits  of  the 
courtyard.  The  moment  he  was  released,  he  flew  to  him  who 
had  saved  him  from  an  ignominious  death.  With  a  heart  too 
full  for  words,  he  caught  his  hands  and  pressed  them  to  his 
heart  and  his  lips,  and  then,  borne  down  by  the  weight  of  his 
emotions,  he  sank  at  his  feet  weeping  and  sobbing,  and  wrapped 
his  arms  around  his  knees.  The  widow,  too,  lifting  her 
trembling  hands  to  heaven,  prayed  the  God  of  the  widow  and  tho 
Father  of  the  orphan  to  bless  him  for  ever  and  ever.  Marcus 
passed  his  hand  over  his  moistened  eyes.  Life  could  not  be  a 
wilderness,  bedewed  by  such  heaven-born  showers.  A  divine 
philanthropy  warmed  his  soul.  It  was  nobler  to  live  for  the 
interests  of  mankind  than  for  individual  happiness.  The  boy, 
whose  life  Providence  had  made  him  the  honoured  instrument 
of  saving  from  a  death  of  shame,  should  henceforth  be  the  ob 
ject  of  his  peculiar  interest  and  care.  The  pious  and  grateful 
widow  should  never  know  a  want  or  sorrow  that  he  could  avert. 
As  soon  as  he  could  free  himself  from  the  almost  oppressive 
congratulations  of  the  crowd,  he  sought  the  solitude  of  his 
room.  There  on  his  knees  he  blessed  the  God  of  Innocence 
and  Youth,  the  Great  God  of  truth  and  justice,  for  having 
given  him  a  mind  capable  of  benefiting  his  fellow-man,  a 
heart  open  to  the  wants  and  sufferings  of  oppressed  humanity. 
He  renewed  the  solemn  dedication  of  himself  to  the  sacred 
Trio  whose  altar  he  had  elevated  on  the  ruins  of  Love.  Then 
he  took  the  letters  of  Florence,  the  ring  of  betrothal,  and 
every  pledge  of  faith  and  affection  he  had  so  carefully 
cherished,  and  sealing  them  in  a  packet,  sent  them  by  express 
to  Wood  Lawn. 


246  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

It  seemed  that  all  the  elements  which  formed  the  being  of 
Marcus  were  to  pass  through  the  refiner's  fire.  About  a  week 
after  the  trial  a  letter  from  Katy  arrived,  announcing  the  dan 
gerous  illness  of  their  father.  In  less  than  an  hour  he  was  on 
his  way  to  Hickory  Hill,  over  whose  shades  a  shade  deeper 
than  the  forest  gloom  was  now  hovering. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"  Fair  was  that  young  girl  and  meek, 
With  a  pale,  transparent  cheek, 
And  a  deep-fringed,  violet  eye, 
Seeking  in  sweet  shade  to  lie, 
Or  if  raised  to  glance  ahove, 
Dim  with  its  own  dews  of  love. 
The  clouds  in  spirit-like  descent 
Their  deep  thoughts  by  one  touch  had  blent, 
And  the  wild  storms  linked  them  to  each  other — 
How  dear  can  sorrow  make  a  brother !" — HEMANS. 

"  Murmur  glad  waters  by — 

Faint  gales  with  happy  sigh 
j  Come  wandering  o'er 

That  green  and  mossy  bed, 
Where  on  a  gentle  head 
Storms  beat  no  more." — IBID. 

WHEN  Marcus  was  about  halfway  on  his  sad  and  solitary 
journey,  he  met  a  very  elegant  equipage,  which  was  accom 
panied  by  a  gentleman  on  horseback.  So  absorbed  was  he  by 
his  meditations,  he  came  upon  them  before  he  was  aware  of 
their  approach ;  but  at  one  glance  he  recognised  the  coal-black 
eyes  of  Delaval,  on  whose  brow  a  cloud  as  black  was  resting. 
No  sign  of  greeting  was  exchanged  between  the  two  haughty 
equestrians.  Marcus  felt  the  darkness  gathering  over  his  own 
face.  Leaning  back  in  the  carriage,  with  listless  languor,  her 
arms  folded  in  a  lace  shawl,  he  had  a  glimpse  of  Florence. 
Raising  her  eyes  dreamily,  as  the  shadow  of  the  horseman 
fell  on  the  carriage  window,  she  beheld  Marcus  Warland,  and 
a  quick  vibration  of  light,  cold  and  dazzling  as  the  night- 
gleam  of  the  aurora  borealis,  passed  over  her  features.  They 
passed  each  other  thus — they,  whose  hearts  at  their  last  part- 


THE  LONG    MOSS   SPRING.  247 

ing  throbbed  against  each  other  with  mutual  pulsations,  whose 
lips  exchanged  the  most  sacred  pledge  of  love  and  faith.  How 
estranged,  how  altered  now  !  Could  that  pale,  cold,  icy-look 
ing  girl  be  the  bright,  impassioned  L' Eclair? — that  haughty, 
stormy-browed  young  man,  the  warm-hearted  and  impulsive 
Delaval  ?  Was  he  indeed  Marcus  Warland  ?  and  was  he  hast 
ening  to  perhaps  a  dying  parent?  This  last  interrogation 
subdued  his  rebellious  thoughts.  Death !  the  great  peace 
maker — Death  !  the  stern  rebuker  of  passion.  As  its  shadow 
glided  on  before  him,  chill  and  mournful,  all  present  interests 
were  lost  in  its  awful  eclipse.  A  few  short  years,  and  those 
resplendent  eyes,  whose  altered  glance  had  just  now  filled  him 
with  such  anguish  and  indignation,  would  be  rayless  and 
closed ;  those  once  love-breathing,  now  disdainful  lips,  clay- 
cold  and  wan.  Youth,  beauty,  and  love — what  were  they  but 
a  dream  ?  What  was  life  itself  but  a  dream  ?  the  dream  of  a 
feverish,  troubled  sleep,  from  which  the  soul  would  awake  in 
the  morning-light  of  an  eternal  day?  Continuing  his  journey 
through  the  night,  Marcus  rode  on  under  a  midnight  moon, 
his  spirit  bathed  in  its  serene  and  solemn  splendour.  A  thou 
sand  times  had  he  gazed  on  its  unearthly  beauty,  and  felt  the 
dominant  passion  of  the  hour  glorified  by  its  influence.  A 
thousand  times  had  the  tide  of  his  heart  swelled  to  overflow 
ing,  beneath  its  sweet,  celestial  attraction.  Sometimes,  when 
he  saw  it  riding  at  anchor  on  the  azure  waves  of  heaven,  like 
a  ship  with  silver  sails  and  majestic  motion,  he  beheld  an 
image  of  his  own  ambition,  so  lofty  in  its  destination,  so  un 
swerving  in  its  course.  Again,  when  it  rose  behind  an  argent 
cloud,  leaning  softly  over  to  gaze  upon  its  image  in  some 
limpid  wave  that  seemed  panting  to  receive  it,  he  saw  a  type 
of  love,  mirroring  itself  in  some  pure,  transparent  heart.  Now, 
as  he  gazed  up  to  the  beautiful  mirror  of  the  sun,  shining  so 
high  and  lonely  in  the  dark  blue  zenith  of  midnight,  it  was  to 
him  an  emblem  of  Faith,  reflecting  to  the  pilgrim  of  Time, 
through  the  nightshade  of  sorrow  and  care,  another  and 
heavenlier  home.  Oh !  could  Florence  but  look  into  the  heart 


248  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

she  so  deeply  yet  innocently  wronged !  But  here  we  see 
through  a  glass  darkly,  even  in  our  clearest  moments ;  and 
when  the  mirror  is  shivered  by  passion,  what  frightful  distor 
tion  disfigures  the  image  it  reflects  ! 

"  My  father  I"  were  the  only  words  he  uttered,  when  he 
arrived  at  Bellamy  Place,  and  Katy  flew  into  his  arms. 

"  He  lives — he  is  better,"  she  cried,  "  but  still  weak  and 
suffering.  Oh !  Marcus,  dear,  dear  brother,  how  I  have 
longed  to  see  you — to  be  near  you  once  more." 

Katy  was  always  pale,  and  her  eyes  had  a  pensive  expres 
sion,  when  unillumined  by  a  smile ;  but  her  paleness  was  that 
of  the  white  rose  in  its  bloom,  sweet  and  fair  to  look  upon. 
Now  her  cheek  had  a  sickly  pallor,  and  her  countenance  was 
very  sad.  Was  it  filial  anxiety  alone  that  caused  this  ?  or 
was  it  blended  with  some  secret  grief?  He  thought  of  the 
dark-browed  Delaval,  and  felt  a  conviction  that  his  sister's 
happiness  was  wrecked,  as  well  as  his  own.  Never  had  he 
loved  her  with  such  heart-aching  tenderness. 

"  My  Katy,  my  darling,  my  own  sweet,  precious  sister,"  he 
cried,  kissing  her  colourless  cheek.  "  Mrs.  Bellamy,  my  more 
than  mother !"  Her  arms  too  were  round  him,  her  mild,  be 
nignant  countenance  emanating  unspeakable  love.  Mr.  Bella 
my  greeted  him  with  all  the  affection  of  a  father  and  all  the 
pride  of  a  man.  He  was  proud  of  the  glorious  boy  he  had 
reared,  for  his  fame  had  gone  abroad  into  the  land. 

"  My  father !"  again  repeated  Marcus,  grasping  Mr.  Bella 
my's  hand.  "  Is  he  really  better  ?  Is  his  life  in  danger  ?" 

"  There  is  danger,"  answered  Mr.  Bellamy ;  "  but  there  is  hope 
also ;  so  Doctor  Manning  says,  who  never  deludes  his  friends." 

Katy  led  her  brother  to  the  room  where  their  father  lay,  at 
whose  bedside  Milly  was  seated,  in  her  ancient  costume, 
waving  the  feathers  of  mingled  green,  gold,  and  purple  over 
the  head  of  her  master.  He  was  asleep,  and  their  gentle  en 
trance  did  not  awake  him.  Milly  could  scarcely  repress  a  loud 
cry  of  joy  at  beholding  him,  but  she  did,  though  the  big  drops 
burst  from  her  eyes  and  rolled  down  her  face.  Holding  the 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  249 

faithful  creature's  hand  in  his,  he  stood  looking  at  the  altered 
but  placid  features  of  his  father.  He  had  been  suffering  from 
a  lingering  disease,  which  had  gradually  reduced  his  strength, 
without  giving  him  acute  pain,  and  though  he  was  pale  and 
emaciated,  there  was  a  peacefulness,  there  was  even  a  smile 
en  his  sleeping  countenance  that  was  soothing  to  look  upon. 

There  is  certainly  a  magnetism  in  the  eye,  which  the  spirit 
feels,  even  through  the  prison-bars  of  sleep.  Warland  awoke, 
while  his  son  was  gazing  sadly,  silently  upon  him,  and  stretchp^ 
out  his  feeble  arms.  Marcus  bent  to  their  enclosure,  and  laid 
his  cheek  against  his  father's. 

"My  son,"  said  the  invalid,  "I  bless  God  for  this.  I 
feared  we  never  would  meet  again  in  this  world." 

"  Many  happy  meetings,  I  trust,  are  in  store  for  us  yet,  my 
father,"  answered  Marcus,  with  a  quivering  lip.  His  heart 
had  less  hope  than  his  words. 

"  Yes,  Marcus,  I  trust  so  too,"  cried  Warland,  raising  his 
eyes  to  heaven. 

The  return  of  his  son  seemed  to  renovate  his  exhausted  sys 
tem,  and  for  a  few  days  he  appeared  better  and  stronger,  was 
able  to  sit  up  in  bed,  supported  by  pillows,  and  to  converse 
without  much  apparent  fatigue.  The  presence  of  Marcus  was 
the  balm  of  Gilead  to  his  soul,  and  he  had  a  kind  Physician  near. 

Mr.  Warland  slept.  Aunt  Milly,  as  usual,  presided  over  his 
slumbers.  Marcus  took  the  hand  of  Katy,  and  drew  it  through 
his  arm. 

"  Let  us  walk,"  said  he,  going  out  into  the  open  air.  "  You 
look  wilted,  dear  Katy.  Such  close  confinement  does  not  agree 
with  you." 

"  It  is  not  that,  brother,"  she  answered,  with  a  sigh.  They 
walked  under  the  shade  of  the  hickories,  and  sat  down  on  a 
little  bench  Hannibal  had  made  expressly  for  her. 

"  What  is  it  then,  my  sister  ?  Do  you  carry  in  your  bosom 
a  wounded  heart  ?"  He  accented  unconsciously  on  the  you, 
Katy  looked  at  him  through  her  long  lashes. 

"  I  received  about  a  week  ago,"  she  said,  "  a  letter  from 


250  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

Delaval,    so   strange,  so  inexplicable — I  know  not  what  to 
think  of  it.     It  has  made  me  very  unhappy." 

"  Will  you  show  it  to  me,  Katy  ?" 

"I  fear — I  dread.  He  speaks  of  you  in  such  a — such  a — 
manner — I  can't  comprehend  it." 

"  I  ought  to  see  it.  I  ought  to  know  how  he  speaks  of  me, 
Katy.  Much  may  depend  upon  it." 

Katy  trembled.  Her  lips  turned  as  pale  as  her  cheeks. 
Marcus  put  his  arm  round  her. 

"Fear  not,  sweet  sister,"  said  he,  "I  will  do  nothing  to 
add  to  your  unhappiness,  whatever  he  may  say.  Could  I 
think  of  deeds  of  violence  while  our  father  lies  languishing  on 
that  sick  bed  ?" 

"No,  indeed.  I  know  you  could  not.  But,  oh  Marcus! 
you  cannot  think  how  wretched  I  have  felt  to  think  that  letter 
should  cause  me  more  unhappiness  than  all  our  father's  suffer 
ings.  How  wicked,  how  selfish  I  am  !  yet  I  think  it  is  what 
he  says  of  you  makes  me  wretched.  I  will  get  the  letter,"  she 
added,  going  into  the  house,  with  a  step  very  different  from 
her  usual  light  footfall.  She  soon  returned,  and  placed  it  in  his 
outstretched  hand.  Its  brief  and  incoherent  contents  were  these : 

"  KATY — I  love  you  better  than  life,  you  know  I  do.  From 
the  first  moment  I  saw  you  to  this — this  dark  and  troubled  one — 
you  have  been  the  polar  star  of  my  soul.  Every  vision  of 
future  happiness  has  been  inspired  by  you.  And  now,  some 
thing  dreadful  has  come  between  us.  Something  that  I  fear 
will  destroy  the  happiness  of  all.  Your  brother,  Katy,  whom 
I  so  loved  and  trusted ;  whom  I  verily  believed  one  of  the 
hierarchs  of  heaven,  so  much  he  seemed  lifted  above  his  kind  ; 
he,  the  friend  and  brother  of  my  soul,  has  insulted  my  sister 
beyond  forgiveness  or  remedy.  With  unexampled  ingratitude, 
and  matchless  cruelty,  he  has  repaid  '  a  love  passing  the  love 
of  woman.'  Katy,  I  love,  I  adore  you.  I  shall  never  cease 
to  do  so.  But  as  long  as  one  spark  of  vitality  burns  in  my 
being,  I  must  detest,  abhor,  and  despise  your  brother. 

"GEORGE  DELAVAL." 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  251 

"  Oh  !  what  have  I  done  ?  How  rash,  how  wrong  I  have 
been  I"  cried  Katy,  recoiling  from  the  indignant  fire  that  blazed 
in  the  eyes  of  Marcus,  as,  hurling  the  letter  to  the  ground,  he 
sprang  up  and  was  hurrying  from  her.  "  Stop,  Marcus.  Don't 
leave  me.  Only  tell  me  what  he  means.  What  have  you 
done  that  he  should  use  such  dreadful  language  ?  I  know  you 
cannot  have  done  any  thing  wrong,  never.  I  hate  him  for 
saying  so.  I  never  shall  love  him  any  more.  You  don't  look 
at  me,  Marcus.  You  won't  speak  to  me.  Alas  !  I  have  done 
very  wrong,  but  I  meant  to  do  right." 

Marcus  turned  at  that  beseeching  voice,  and  an  expression 
of  pity  softened  the  fierce  splendour  of  his  countenance.  He 
came  back  and  sat  down  by  her  on  the  little  shaded  bench. 

"  Heaven  knows  what  I  have  done,  Katy.  I  do  not.  I 
will  tell  you  all  I  know."  He  then  related  the  history  of 
Rosa,  the  return  of  his  letters,  the  chain  and  locket,  as  well  as 
his  subsequent  letter  of  explanation.  That  a  circumstance 
capable  of  so  simple  and  honourable  an  explanation  should 
have  caused  such  an  insulting  termination  of  friendship  and 
love,  seemed  incomprehensible  to  both,  and  as  unpardonable 
as  incomprehensible.  Katy  had  a  good  deal  of  honest  pride 
concealed  under  her  gentle,  loving  exterior.  She  adored  her 
brother,  and  an  injury  inflicted  on  him  stung  her  to  the  quick 
of  her  heart.  Before  she  saw  him,  Delaval's  letter  had  made 
her  unspeakably  wretched,  from  its  mysterious  accusations  of 
Marcus.  They  filled  her  with  a  vague  horror.  That  Delaval 
should  accuse  him  without  cause,  she  tried  not  to  believe ;  that 
Marcus  had  given  him  cause,  she  could  not  believe.  Now, 
when  she  heard  the  only  possible  reason  that  could  be  assigned, 
indignation  lifted  her  above  the  weakness  of  sorrow.  She  was 
very  beautiful  in  her  anger.  It  gave  such  life  and  spirit  to 
her  face. 

"  That  dear  Rosa !"  she  cried,  "  how  I  love  her.  She  did 
what  I  longed  to  do — nursed  you  on  your  sick  bed,  and  soothed 
you  back  to  health  and  life.  To  grudge  her  the  possession  of 
a  simple  locket,  and  one  of  those  beautiful  locks  of  yours,  and 


252  MARCUS  WARLAIVD;  OR, 

think  it  an  insult  to  them,  seems  shocking.  To  take  it  away 
from  the  poor  girl,  how  wicked !  She  must  look  as  Cora  did. 
And  you  do  not  know  where  she  is,  and  whether  you  will  ever 
see  her  again." 

Katy  was  so  excited  by  the  wrongs  of  Rosa,  she  forgot  her 
own.  She  hated  the  proud  and  jealous  Florence,  and  won 
dered  sisters  could  influence  brothers  so  much.  She  wished 
she  had  never  known  Delaval,  never  thought  of  love,  or  al 
lowed  a  "  stranger  to  intermeddle  with  her  joy." 

"  Let  us  go  to  our  father,"  said  Marcus.  "  I  shall  not  feel 
safe  from  my  own  passions  till  I  stand  by  his  sick  bed." 

"  I  will  follow,"  said  Katy.  "  I  see  Mrs.  Bellamy  beckon 
ing  me  from  her  room." 

Marcus  went  alone  to  his  father's  apartment.  He  found  him 
awake,  and  refreshed  by  his  repose.  Taking  Aunt  Milly's 
place,  and  telling  her  to  go  and  rest,  he  seated  himself  by 
the  bed's  head,  so  that  his  father  could  not  look  into  his 
face.  Warland  took  his  son's  hand,  and  drew  him  gently 
toward  him. 

"  I  want  to  see  you,  my  son,"  he  said,  "  as  well  as  to  feel 
the  balm  of  your  presence.  What  a  feverish  hand  is  this  I" 
Then  looking  fixedly  upon  him,  "Marcus,  you  are  greatly 
moved.  If  it  is  the  thought  of  my  danger,  you  must  not  let  it 
unman  you  thus.  Submission  to  our  God  is  easy.  You  will 
find  it  so,  my  son." 

Marcus  was  too  true,  too  ingenuous  to  allow  his  father  to 
impute  to  filial  sorrow  the  cloud  which  warring  passions  had 
left  upon  his  brow. 

"Father,  submission  to  God  may  be  learned.  Whatever 
blow  he  may  inflict,  though  it  should  rend  my  heart  in  twain, 
I  trust  I  can  say,  His  holy  will  be  done.  But,  when  we  suffer 
from  the  inconstancy,  and  injustice,  and  insults  of  man,  oh  ! 
father,  teach  me  how  fro  curb  my  rebel  passions ;  tell  me  what 
I  ought  to  do  !" 

"  Ah  !  my  son,  has  it  come  so  soon,  this  bitter  knowledge 
of  the  injustice  of  man  ?  Yet,  this  is  the  natural  consequence 


THE  LONa  MOSS   SPRING.  253 

of  your  growing  fame.  It  is  only  in  the  sunshine  the  shadow 
is  seen." 

"  No,  sir,  it  is  not  envy.  But  let  me  tell  you  all.  Your 
wisdom  shall  guide  me,  and  I  feel  that  your  sympathy  will 
console.  Father,  if  you  were  not  lying  here  on  this  sick  bed, 
my  hand  would  be  grasping  the  avenging  steel.  It  burns  for 
redress.  This  is  the  fever  that  makes  my  pulse  throb  so  quick, 
and  fills  my  veins  with  a  boiling  fluid." 

Then  Marcus  related  the  history  of  his  estrangement  from 
Florence  and  Delaval  without  any  reservation,  the  struggles 
he  felt  on  the  morning  of  the  trial,  his  self-conquest,  and  deter 
mination  to  devote  himself  henceforth  to  the  highest  and 
holiest  duties.  He  repeated  the  contents  of  Delaval' s  letter  to 
Katy,  which  she  had  not  shown  to  her  father,  declaring  his 
conviction  that  her  happiness  was  destroyed,  as  well  as  his 
own.  Mr.  Warland  listened  with  breathless  attention,  and 
when  Marcus  had  concluded  laid  his  hand  impressively  on 
his,  and  said, — 

"  And  you  believe  that  Rosa  is  the  cause  of  all  this  ?" 

"  The  innocent  one,  father.  What  else  could  the  return  of 
the  locket  to  me  imply  ?;/ 

"  Marcus,  I  feel  constrained  to  reveal  to  you  what  I  pro 
mised  to  keep  secret  while  you  lay  sick  and  wounded.  Had 
you  no  suspicions  that  Rosa  was  other  than  she  seemed  ?" 

"None,  father,  none." 

"Yet  Rosa  and  Florence  are  one." 

"  Good  heavens,  father,  it  is  not  possible  !" 

"  It  is  even  so.  Before  she  entered  your  sick  room,  she 
sent  for  me,  telling  me  her  real  name,  and  placing  herself  un 
der  my  protection.  She  told  me,  the  knowledge  that  I  was 
with  you  emboldened  her  to  take  the  step  she  had  done.  She 
dared  not  expose  herself  to  the  censure  of  the  world  by  appear 
ing  in  her  true  character ;  but  maddened  at  the  intelligence  of 
your  danger,  she  had  braved  every  thing  but  contumely,  to 
be  near  and  minister  to  your  sufferings.  How  tenderly,  how 
faithfully  she  ministered  to  them,  with  what  virgin  delicacy 


254  MARCUS  WARLANDJ    OR, 

and  modesty  she  maintained  her  character  as  a  lady,  •while  she 
preserved  her  disguise  as  a  servant,  your  own  memory  can 
bear  witness." 

Marcus  listened  to  this  astounding  revelation  like  one 
awaking  from  a  nightmare.  He  could  not  realize  its  truth. 
Yet,  when  he  recalled  the  form  of  Hosa,  the  contour  of  her 
chin  and  neck,  a  certain  graceful  motion  of  the  head  peculiar 
to  Florence,  he  wondered  at  his  own  stupidity.  Then  he 
recollected  the  darkened  chamber,  the  mulatto  dye,  the  coloured 
handkerchief  that  bound  up  her  magnificent  tresses,  the  deep 
green  shade  that  covered  her  brilliant  eyes  and  the  upper  part 
of  her  face,  and  the  simple  calico  frock  and  white  apron  that 
clothed  her  beautiful  figure,  and  the  disguise  did  seem  im 
penetrable. 

"  Could  Florence  do  all  this  for  me,  and  then  cast  me  from 
her  ?"  he  exclaimed.  "  How  unfathomable  is  the  mystery  of 
her  conduct !" 

"  Believe  me,  Marcus,  some  secret  enemy'has  been  at  work, 
and  is  probably  still  busy  in  undermining  your  interests.  She 
•who  could  prove  her  love  as  Florence  Delaval  has  done  is  no 
light,  capricious  damsel,  actuated  merely  by  impulse  or  passion. 
She  has  a  depth  and  truth  of  character  I  have  never  seen  in 
one  so  young.  You  have  often  told  me,  Marcus,  that  you  had 
never  known  me  fail  in  my  estimate  of  man  or  woman.  I  am 
willing  to  stake  my  life — ah,  that  is  of  little  value,  it  is  fast 
•waning  away, — I  will  only  say,  nothing  could  shake  my  con 
fidence  in  the  strength  and  purity  of  her  affection  in  her  self- 
sacrificing  and  generous  nature." 

"  Bless  you,  father — not  once,  but  ten  thousand  times — for 
this  undoubting  trust.  You  make  me  blush  for  my  own  injus 
tice,  as  much  as  I  do,for  my  blindness  and  stupidity,  in  not 
recognising  L'e"clair  through  any  disguise.  But  surely  I  must 
have  known  her  sweet  and  silver  voice.  The  ear  cannot  be 
deceived." 

Mr.  Warland  smiled.  "  Florence  has  all  a  woman's  wit.  1 
saw  her  myself  put  cotton  between  her  rosy  lips,  to  thicken 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  255 

that  sweet  and  silver  voice.  She  closed  every  avenue  to  de 
tection,  and  her  disguise  was  so  perfect,  I  do  not  wonder  that 
you  never  penetrated  it." 

"  Had  you  ever  seen  her  in  the  splendour  of  her  beauty, 
father,  you  would  wonder  that  I  did  not  discover  some  gleam 
that  would  show  her  identity." 

"I  saw  her  once,"  said  Mr.  Warland,  "without  her  disguise. 
It  was  one  evening  when  you  were  sleeping  under  the  influence 
of  a  powerful  anodyne.  She  took  me  in  another  room,  and 
stepping  into. an  adjoining  closet,  soon  returned,  another  and 
yet  the  same.  She  had  washed  the  stain  from  her  face  and 
hands,  unbound  the  handkerchief  from  her  rich  curling  hair, 
and  taken  the  shade  from  her  dazzling  eyes.  I  never  saw 
such  a  transformation.  Coming  toward  me,  and  placing  her 
hands  with  endearing  frankness  in  mine,  she  said,  (  I  wanted 
you  to  see  me  as  I  am  for  one  moment.  I  am  dark  by  nature, 
but  not  quite  a  mulatto.  Do  you  think  it  strange  that  Mar 
cus  does  not  recognise  me  ?'  Marcus,  my  dear  boy,  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  strangely  I  was  affected  at  that  moment.  To 
look  at  this  magnificent  creature,  and  think  it  was  for  love  of 
you,  my  son,  that  she  assumed  the  guise  of  a  menial,  braved 
the  displeasure  of  her  friends  and  the  risk  of  discovery,  was 
enough  to  move  the  heart  of  any  man.  I  yearned  to  take  her 
in  my  arms  to  my  heart,  and  tell  her  that  I  loved  her  as  a 
daughter.  And  I  did,  Marcus.  I  shall  never  see  her  again, 
but  bear  to  her  my  parting  blessing.  As  sure  as  there  is  a 
moon  in  yonder  heavens,  she  loves  you,  and  an  enemy  is  try 
ing  to  sever  her  from  you." 

A  sudden  faintness  came  over  him,  and  he  sank  back  on 
the  pillow.  Marcus,  in  alarm,  presented  a  cordial  to  his  lips, 
which  soon  revived  him. 

"  This  has  been  too  much  for  you,  father,"  said  Marcus, 
with  bitter  self-reproach.  "I  am  killing  you  by  my  selfish 
ness.  Do  not  speak  again." 

"  One  word  more,  Marcus.  This  enemy,  I  believe — but — 
you  will  discover  him." 


256  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

Closing  his  eyes,  he  pressed  the  hand  of  his  son,  who,  struck 
by  his  words,  felt  as  if  thick  scales  were  falling  from  his  eyes, 
and  thick  clouds  rolling  away  from  his  strangely  darkened  un 
derstanding.  Marcus  did  not  forget  to  repeat  to  his  sister  the 
conversation  he  had  had  with  his  father,  and  Katy  slept  that 
night  with  a  somewhat  lightened  heart. 

Mr.  Warland  gradually  grew  weaker,  till  even  Doctor  Man 
ning,  the  all-hopeful  physician,  gave  up  hope.  But  his  dis 
ease  seemed  scarcely  to  diminish  the  strength  of  his  lungs,  and 
his  mind  was  clear  and  calm  to  the  last. 

"  There  is  retribution  in  this  world,  as  well  as  in  the  next," 
he  said.  "  I  am  dying  the  victim  of  my  early  excesses.  Nature 
sooner  or  later  avenges  her  violated  laws,  and  assists  the  judg 
ment  of  the  Almighty." 

Seeing  Milly,  who  was  standing  by  the  bedside,  he  held  out 
his  hand  to  her,  with  great  emotion. 

"  The  blessing  of  God  and  that  of  a  dying  man  rest  upon 
you,  faithful  friend  and  affectionate  guardian  of  my  orphan 
children.  When  bereft  of  a  mother,  and  neglected  by  a  father, 
with  none  to  cherish  and  protect,  you  fostered  them  in  your 
arms  of  love,  and  shielded  them  from  poverty  and  wrong.  To 
their  gratitude  and  kindness  I  commend  you;  to  the  care  of 
God  I  commit  you." 

"Oh,  master,"  sobbed  the  weeping  negro,  "you  allos  good 
to  Milly." 

"  Was  I  good,"  said  the  contrite  man,  "  when  I  would 
have  sold  you,  in  face  of  my  solemn  vow,  had  not  my  boy 
stepped  between  me  and  my  sin  and  shame  ?" 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,  master,  don't.  I  forgot  all  that,  long 
time  ago — the  Lord  be  praised,  I  have." 

"  I  love  to  speak  of  it,"  replied  her  master,  with  deep  hu 
mility.  "  It  magnifies  the  mercy  that  has  saved  me — the  love 
that  has  forgiven." 

The  day  before  he  died  he  called  Marcus  to  him  and  said : 
"  I  have  one  request  to  make.  It  matters  little  where  our 
dust  is  laid,  when  the  spark  that  animates  it  is  fled.  Yet  we 


THE  LONG  MOSS   SPRING.  257 

all  have  our  wishes  on  this  solemn  subject.  Your  mother  is 
laid  in  the  tomb  of  her  fathers,  far  away  from  here.  They 
came,  obedient  to  her  dying  prayer,  and  bore  her  where  I  may 
not  follow.  But  there  is  one  spot,  one  sweet  and  quiet  spot, 
where  I  would  fain  sleep  in  my  last  repose.  We  have  often 
sat  together  there,  while  the  pensive  voice  of  the  fountain 
murmured  in  our  ears.  Bury  me,  my  son,  near  the  Long 
Moss  Spring,  where  the  river's  roar  and  the  fountain's  gush  shall 
be  my  requiem.  When  you  told  me  of  poor  Simon's  lonely 
grave,  I  thought  how  pleasant  it  would  be  to  bear  him  com 
pany." 

"  Even  so,  father,"  cried  Marcus,  "  it  shall  be  as  your  soul 
desires.  Your  children  will  one  day  come  and  lie  down  by 
your  side.  It  always  seemed  to  me  that  the  sleep  of  the  grave 
would  be  sweet,  near  the  sound  of  those  lulling  waters." 

Mr.  Warland  died.  But  so  triumphant  was  his  faith,  so 
peaceful  his  departure,  that  death  was  disarmed  of  its  terrors 
and  grief  of  its  sting.  Nature  mourned,  but  religion  consoled. 

They  earned  his  remains  to  the  lovely  spot  his  dying  lips 
had  designated.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bellamy  accompanied  their 
adopted  children.  It  was  the  desire  of  Hannibal  to  go  with 
Milly;  and  these  two  faithful  friends,  and  we  may  add  benefac 
tors,  of  both  families,  followed  him  they  loved  to  his  quiet  grave. 

With  indescribable  emotions  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bellamy  beheld 
a  scene,  consecrated  in  their  remembrance  by  the  most  dear 
and  interesting  associations.  To  the  apparently  accidental 
circumstance  of  lingering  one  night  under  that  humble  roof, 
they  were  indebted  for  years  of  happiness.  They  had  been 
happy  in  the  friendship  and  companionship  of  the  good  and 
gifted  man,  who  was  then  lost  to  society,  a  slave  to  one  evil 
passion — happy  in  the  love  and  gratitude  of  the  lovely  girl, 
the  noble  young  man,  who  but  for  them  might  have  remained 
in  the  obscurity  of  a  ferryman's  cabin.  They  looked  at  Mar 
cus  and  recalled  their  last  thought — a  spirit  like  his  would 
have  forced  its  way  to  distinction,  though  mountains  and 
rocks  opposed  its  path.  It  would  have  fulfilled  its  glorious 
68 


MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

destiny.  Theirs  was  the  honour  and  the  joy  of  assisting  its 
upward  progress. 

It  was  a  solemn  yet  not  melancholy  burial.  The  beauti 
ful  fountain  smiled  and  sang,  as  if  it  welcomed  a  bride  to  the 
magnolia  bower.  The  Long  Moss  gently  waved  and  curled 
against  the  sides  of  the  snowy  basin,  and  the  water-lily's  un 
dulating  stem  glided  like  a  green  serpent  under  the  waves. 
On  the  side  opposite  to  that,  where  the  old  soldier  rested,  they 
made  the  grave  of  Warland.  There  they  were  laid,  represent 
atives  of  two  distinct  races,  the  black  and  white,  laid  in  those 
slumbers  that  know  no  awaking,  till  the  Apocalyptic  angel 
shall  come,  with  one  foot  on  sea  and  one  on  land,  and  declare, 
after  the  seven  thunders  are  hushed,  that  the  mystery  of  God 
is  finished,  and  that  Time  shall  be  no  more. 

The  family  entered  the  cabin.  Milly  lingered  by  the  grave 
of  Simon,  and  discoursed  to  Hannibal  of  his  Christian  virtues 
and  surprising  learning.  "  He  sent  me  all  his  arnings,"  said 
Milly,  "  sewed  up  like  a  charm,  in  a  leather  bag.  I  wouldn't 
use  it,  'cause  it's  sacred  money.  I'm  going  to  get  Master 
Marcus  to  have  a  monument  for  to  petrify  his  mem'ry,  at  this 
'xpense.  The  Scriptures  tell  us  to  'tend  to  all  sich  things. 
Noah  bought  a  cave  to  bury  his  wife  in,  'fore  the  big  flood 
came  and  swallow  him  up,  in  the  mouth  of  the  whale." 

"  I  heern  Master  Bellamy  say,"  replied  Hannibal,  whose 
thoughts  had  been  wandering  to  the  little  green  enclosure 
where  Cora  slept,  "  he  'tended  to  build  a  sorter  temple  here, 
'cause  he  call  it  holy  ground.  Folk,  sailing  'long  the  river  see 
it  and  ask  ( "Who  that  there  ?'  Then  somebody  say  '  Good 
Master  Warland,' — and — what  that  old  nigger's  name,  Milly  ?" 

"  He  wa'n't  a  nigger,  no  how,"  said  Milly,  indignantly. 
"  He  preacher  of  the  gospel,  and  gentleman  of  culler.  Every 
body  'spect  ole  Simon,  and  raal  niggers  take  off  their  hat  when 
they  speak  in  his  presence.  When  the  Lord  take  me  to 
heaven,  I  pray  young  master  to  let  me  come  too  and  lie  'long 
side  of  good  old  Simon  and  blessed  ole  master." 

'"  When  /done  dead,"  said  Hannibal,  a  shade  of  melancholy 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  259 

deepening  on  his  sable  face,  "  I  gonter  sleep  where  Cora  sleep, 
and  the  white  angels  come  down  and  cuvver  us  both  all  up  with 
their  'visible  wings.  I  willing  to  die,  jist  to  be  where  she 
gone  to." 

We  hope  you  are  not  weary  because  we  have  brought  you 
once  again  to  the  borders  of  the  Long  Moss  Spring.  It  is  the 
last  time  we  shall  ask  you  to  bear  us  company  to  that  sweet 
and  hallowed  spot.  Farewell,  fair  and  peaceful  waters.  Fare 
well,  ye  green  and  silver-tinted  plumes,  ye  bright-leaved,  verdant 
hollies.  Superb  magnolia,  sentinel  of  the  lonely  dead,  we 
bid  thee  too  farewell.  Perchance  some  young  lovers,  after 
crossing  the  river's  tide,  may  seat  themselves  under  thy  shades, 
and  write  their  vows  on  the  waxen  petals  of  thy  regal  blos 
soms,  heedless  of  the  dust  that  consecrates  the  fountain's  mar 
gin.  But  to  us,  perennial  Spring,  thou  speakest  of  thrilling 
memories.  We  love  thy  name.  It  is  embalmed  in  our  recol 
lection,  and  it  sounds  like  music  to  our  ears.  Sweet  Long 
Moss  Spring — Farewell! 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  Then  fare  thee  well — I'd  rather  make 
My  bower  upon  some  icy  lake, 
When  thawing  suns  begin  to  shine, 
Than  trust  to  love  so  false  as  thine." — MOOKE. 

"  Upon  his  brow  shame  is  ashamed  to  sit." — SHAKSPEARE. 

THE  shadow  of  death  lingers  long  on  the  threshold  over 
which  his  footsteps  have  passed.  When  the  family  returned 
to  Bellamy  Place,  every  thing  looked  sad  and  changed.  The 
foliage  of  the  hickories  had  a  darker  tinge ;  even  the  negroes 
that  thronged  round  the  carriage  to  welcome  them  home 
seemed  blacker  in  hue.  The  echoes  of  their  footsteps,  as  they 
walked  through  the  closed  and  silent  rooms,  sounded  like 
"  voices  from  the  dead."  They  had  returned,  but  one  loved 
and  revered  was  left  behind.  There  was  a  vacant  chair,  which 


260  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

would  never  more  be  filled  ;  there  was  a  dark  chamber  that  no 
one  wished  to  enter ;  a  name  each  lip  trembled  as  it  repeated. 

Katy  threw  herself  into  her  brother's  arms,  and  wept.  "  Oh ! 
Marcus,"  she  repeated,  "  it  seemed  to  me  all  the  way  home  as 
if  I  should  find  him  here." 

"  He  is  here,  my  sister,"  answered  he,  "  he  is  in  our  hearts, 
where  we  shall  ever  find  him.  Those  only  die  who  leave  be 
hind  no  memory  of  virtue." 

It  was  a  sad  moment  to  all  when  Marcus  again  left  them, 
but  he  had  professional  engagements  which  he  was  bound  in 
honour  to  fulfil.  He  was  resolved  too,  according  to  his  father's 
dying  counsels,  to  visit  Wood  Lawn,  and  demand  an  explana 
tion  of  the  mysterious  charges  against  him.  The  proof  that 
Florence  had  given  of  self-sacrificing  love  made  the  immola 
tion  of  his  pride  an  act  of  justice  and  gratitude.  His  father 
too  had  left  him  a  sacred  trust,  his  orphan  sister's  happiness. 
If  his  own  were  irretrievably  lost,  that  could  never  be  restored. 

"  I  will  find  out  mine  enemy,"  cried  the  young  man,  "  though 
I  rend  asunder  Bastile  bars  to  lay  hold  of  him.  He  shall  not 
escape  my  just  and  righteous  vengeance." 

While  the  inmates  of  Bellamy  Place  had  been  receiving  the 
solemn  lesson  of  mortality  into  their  chastened  hearts,  the 
young  master  and  mistress  of  Wood  Lawn  had  been  trying  to 
escape  from  themselves  by  every  means  their  wealth  permitted 
them  to  indulge.  But  Florence  carried  an  arrow  in  her  bosom 
that  penetrated  deeper  and  deeper,  while  her  eyes,  like  lamps 
unfed  with  oil,  shone  with  faint  and  wavering  lustre.  Mrs. 
Lewis,  noticing  with  alarm  her  fading  colour,  insisted  upon 
sending  for  a  physician,  but  this  Florence  strenuously  forbade. 
Mr.  Alston  advised  the  waters  of  the  White  Sulphur  Springs 
in  Virginia,  but  the  season  was  too  far  advanced  to  remain 
long,  and  this  too  Florence  resisted,  from  a  vague  hope  that 
something  would  occur  at  home — she  knew  not  what — to  re 
lieve  her  unspeakable  misery.  Delaval  endeavoured  to  sustain 
her  and  himself  too  by  the  marble  pillar  of  pride,  which  he 
grasped  with  cold  and  sliding  hands ;  but  though  she  pressed 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  261 

her  aching  heart  against  it,  it  only  mocked  its  throbbing  an 
guish.  Those  only  who  have  loved  as  deeply,  passionately, 
and  exclusively  as  Florence,  can  conceive  of  her  unutterable 
desolation. 

Letty,  her  negro  attendant,  watched  her  young  mistress 
with  sorrowful  devotion.  She  was  certain  from  the  first  there 
was  treachery  somewhere.  She  longed  to  discover  it.  That 
the  unhappiness  of  Florence  had  its  origin  in  the  letter  which 
had  dropped  from  the  pamphlet,  and  was  written  by  Marcus, 
she  was  well  aware.  She  was  forbidden  to  mention  the  sub 
ject  in  terms  she  dared  not  disregard ;  but  the  determination 
to  find  out  the  mystery  of  the  letter  grew  stronger  every  day. 
If  she  could  only  get  to  Mr.  Patterson's !  But,  upon  what 
plea  could  she  ask  leave  of  absence  to  visit  a  place  with  which 
she  had  never  had  any  communication  ?  Her  mistress  would 
suspect  her  motive,  and  it  would  be  a  sufficient  reason  for  de 
nial.  At  length  circumstances  favoured  Letty's  long-cherished 
wishes.  There  was  a  camp-meeting  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Mr.  Patterson's,  which  she  expressed  a  strong  desire  to  attend. 
Florence,  who  was  an  indulgent  mistress,  readily  granted  her 
request.  She  was  even  glad  to  be  rid  of  the  surveillance  of 
the  negro's  shrewd,  affectionate  eye.  She  wanted  to  be  alone 
in  the  solitude  of  her  heart.  She  wanted  no  one  near,  not 
even  her  brother  to  say  to  her,  by  a  glance  of  sympathy, 
"  How  lone,  how  dreary  it  is  I"  A  hundred  times  she  re 
peated  to  herself  the  thrilling,  despairing  strains  of  Scotia'a 
sweetest  bard : — 

"Had  I  a  cave  on  some  wild,  distant  shore, 
Where  the  winds  howl  to  the  waves'  dashing  roar, 
There  would  I  weep  my  woes, 
There  seek  my  lost  repose, 
Till  grief  my  eyes  should  close, 
Ne'er  to  wake  more." 

Letty  departed  in  high  spirits,  in  a  covered  wagon  filled  with 
negroes,  bound,  as  they  verily  believed,  for  the  promised  land. 
The  camp-meeting  ground,  in  their  estimation,  was  the  floor 
ing  of  heaven,  and  many  of  them  expected  to  find  there  ready- 


262  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

made  wings,  that  would  bear  them  up  to  the  blue  ceiling  arch 
ing  over  them.  They  sang  and  shouted  the  whole  way.  Letty, 
with  the  improvisation  of  genius,  went  off  into  impromptus, 
which  the  less  gifted  ones  repeated  after  her  with  increasing 
spirit : 

I'm  going  to  the  promised  land, 

Just  to  find  out  what  I  can  ; 

Old  master  Satan  hide  among  the  bushes, 

I  mean  to  catch  'em,  and  all  de  loaf  and  fishes. 

Lip  did  dido,  Letty  know  a  heap, 
Little  pickaninny  plague  a  folk  asleep. 

Letty  was  really  an  African  improvisatrice,  and  on  this  oc 
casion  entitled  herself  to  immortal  laurels.  Like  the  Egyp 
tian  priests,  she  veiled  her  true  meaning  in  a  kind  of  hiero 
glyphic  style,  but  her  songs  all  had  one  burden,  whose  weight 
was  known  only  to  herself : 

Nigger  shut  a  eye  up, 

See  as  well  as  ever  ; 
Nigger  pull  a  tongue  out, 

What  of  dat,  I  wonder. 
White  folk  tell  'cm  one  ting, 

Nigger  do  anoder ; 
'Spose  dey  find  out  someting, 

What  of  dat,  I  wonder. 

Snake  bake  a  hoe-cake,  set  a  frog  to  mind  it, 
Letty  come  along — knock  'em  all  behind  it. 

Thus  imparting  inspiration  to  all,  Letty  went  on  her  way 
rejoicing.  The  party  were  absent  a  week,  and  long  after  their 
return  the  night-shades  of  Wood  Lawn  were  made  vocal  by 
these  remembered  strains. 

Letty  made  ten  times  more  grimaces  than  ever,  and  some 
times  bit  her  tongue  in  a  most  portentous  manner.  Her  odd, 
ugly  countenance  said  as  plain  as  words  could  speak  it,  "  I 
knows  what  I  knows,  but  I  winna  tell  you." 

In  her  brighter,  merrier  moments,  Florence  had  made  it  a 
practice,  after  supper,  to  play  on  the  piano  some  inspiring  air, 
for  Letty  to  dance,  who  was  one  of  the  most  light,  airy,  grace 
ful  sylphs  on  the  floor  one  could  possibly  imagine.  A  few 
evenings  after  hei  return,  Letty  came  in  with  a  white  hand 
kerchief  pinned  to  her  side,  and  begged  her  young  mistress 
Just  for  one  tune.  "  She  was  obliged  to  dance/'  she  said, 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  263 

"  she  could  not  help  it,  and  it  did  look  so  bad  to  shake  the  toes 
about  without  music." 

Florence,  with  a  languid  smile,  seated  herself  at  the  instru 
ment,  and  Letty  was  soon  floating,  like  a  black  feather,  on  the 
liquid  sounds.  There  were  always  about  a  half  dozen  black 
heads  peeping  in  at  the  door  to  witness  the  performance,  for 
Letty,  in  consequence  of  her  wit,  genius,  and  grace,  in  spite 
of  her  ugly  features,  was  the  reigning  belle  of  the  plantation. 
She  was  compelled  to  stop  in  her  airy  performance  by  the  ring 
ing  of  the  door-bell,  whose  summons  she  obeyed  with  alacrity. 

"  Master  Alfred  Patterson,"  said  she,  throwing  the  parlour 
door  wide  open,  showing  all  the  ivory  of  her  mouth.  "  Please 
walk  in." 

Florence  rose  from  the  piano,  suffused  with  burning  blushes. 
The  remembrance  of  the  letter  addressed  to  him  covered  her 
with  shame,  and  plunged  her  in  humiliation.  Surprised  at 
her  emotion,  the  young  man  could  not  help  indulging  a  hope, 
that,  though  once  rejected,  he  was  not  altogether  an  object  of 
indifference.  The  invitation,  too,  he  had  so  unexpectedly  re 
ceived,  to  visit  Wood  Lawn,  made  this  emotion  still  more  flat 
tering,  more  easy  to  translate  in  his  favour.  Delaval  felt  em 
barrassed,  on  his  sister's  account,  but  he  was  too  much  the 
master  of  himself  not  to  welcome  him  with  cordial  politeness, 
and  enter  at  once  into  familiar  conversation. 

"  This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure,"  said  he.  "  You  have  be 
come  so  much  of  a  bookworm  lately,  I  feared  we  never  should 
see  you  again." 

"  I  could  not  refuse  so  polite  an  invitation,"  answered  Pat 
terson,  "  when  it  corresponded  so  well  with  my  own  wishes." 

The  countenance  of  Delaval  expressed  such  manifest  surprise, 
that  Patterson  involuntarily  turned  toward  Letty,  who  was 
fidgeting  near  the  door. 

"  The  fact  is,  master,"  said  Letty,  giving  one  of  her  peculiar 
winks,  "  I  see  Master  Patterson  at  the  camp-ground,  and  I  give 
him  your  'spects,  and  Miss  Florence's,  too,  and  tell  him  you 
be  glad  to  see  him  any  time,  but  'specially  right  off." 


264  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

"  She  anticipated  our  wishes/'  said  Delaval,  with  ready  po 
liteness.  "  The  earliest  time  is  always  the  best  to  welcome  an 
old  friend.  Have  you  supped  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Patterson,  wondering  at  the  audacity  of  the  ne 
gro,  who  had  given  him  a  pressing  invitation,  as  if  it  came 
directly  from  her  master  and  mistress. 

"  Well,  come  into  the  dining-room,  where  I  left  my  uncle 
and  Mrs.  Lewis  discussing  family  matters,  while  my  sister 
regaled  us  with  a  little  music." 

Delaval  led  their  guest  to  the  dining-room,  while  Florence 
turned  to  rebuke  Letty  for  her  unauthorized  boldness.  She 
had  disappeared,  and  the  bell  again  ringing,  announced  a  visitor. 
She  was  now  alone  in  the  parlour,  still  seated  at  the  piano, 
over  whose  keys  her  fingers  were  lightly  and  unconsciously 
running.  There  was  something  in  the  tread  of  the  person 
who  crossed  the  threshold  that  made  her  start  up  and  turn  her 
face  toward  the  door.  It  was  Marcus  Warland,  standing  a  few 
paces  within,  whose  glance  met  hers,  not  cold  and  haughty,  as 
when  she  had  seen  him  the  last  time,  but  beaming  with  intense 
emotion.  His  face  was  very  pale,  and  he  wore  on  his  arm  the 
sable  badge  of  mourning.  Florence  gazed  like  one  awaking 
from  a  dream,  then  clasping  her  hand  with  an  expression  of 
rapture,  was  about  to  spring  forward,  when  suddenly  something 
seemed  to  arrest  her,  and  freeze  her  to  the  spot  where  she 
stood.  If  one  could  imagine  fire  suddenly  congealing,  it  would 
convey  the  impression  of  the  transition  of  that  moment. 

"  Florence,"  cried  he,  advancing,  "  L'  e"clair,  in  the  name  of 
heaven,  tell  me  what  I  have  done  to  estrange  the  heart  I  once 
thought  wholly  mine.  If  love  is  extinguished,  justice  and 
truth  must  still  remain.  In  their  sacred  names  I  demand  to 
know  my  crime,  that  I  may  justify  my  character,  or  if  I  have 
a  secret  enemy,  as  I  well  believe  I  have,  avenge  my  wrongs." 

Florence  looked  upon  him  with  an  astonished  glance  How 
could  the  man  who  had  written  such  words  of  her  assume  this 
lofty  tone  and  indignant  air  ?  He  seemed  the  injured^  instead 
of  the  injurer;  the  victim,  instead  of  the  sacrificer. 


THE  LONO   MOSS   SPRING.  265 

"  Mr.  Warland  has  no  worse  enemy  than  himself/'  replied 
Florence,  with  inexpressible  dignity.  "  His  own  words  have 
condemned  him,  his  own  hand  signed  the  death-warrant  of  my 
love." 

"  By  heaven,  Florence  !  I  begin  to  fear  that  we  are  all  going 
mad  !  I  cannot  be  put  off  with  these  dark  and  enigmatical 
sayings.  After  all  that  has  passed  between  us,  I  have  a  right 
to  openness  and  sincerity.  Oh,  L'eclair  ! — Oh,  Rosa  !  by  the 
memory  of  your  unparalleled  devotion,  by  those  celestial  minis 
trations  which  brought  me  back  to  life,  and  which  my  whole 
life  can  never  repay,  I  implore  you  not  to  trifle  with  my  hap 
piness,  and  thereby  destroy  your  own." 

This  allusion  to  her  disguise,  and  the  cares  she  had  lavished 
on  him  in  his  sick  room,  again  sent  the  haughty  blood  to 
her  cheeks.  It  was  the  crimson  of  shame  blended  with  the 
deeper  hue  of  pride  and  anger.  The  words  seemed  literally  to 
sting  her. 

"  That  you  should  allude,  at  this  moment,  to  an  act  of  in 
fatuation,  that  I  now  mourn  in  dust  and  ashes,"  cried  she, 
almost  choked  with  contending  passions,  "  is  a  crowning  insult, 
which  I  never  can  pardon.  Go,  sir,"  she  continued,  terror 
contracting  her  brow,  and  quivering  on  her  lip ;  "  go,  sir,  be 
fore  my  brother  comes.  I  know  not  what  he  will  do  if  he  sees 
you  here.  Will  you  not  go,  or  do  you  wish  to  drive  me  really 
mad  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  will  go,  never  again  to  expose  myself  to  wrongs 
which,  being  inflicted  by  a  woman,  I  can  never  redress.  But 
your  brother  and  I  must  meet,  and  from  him  I  will  learn  what 
you  refuse  to  reveal.  He  shall  give  me  the  name  of  my  enemy, 
if  he  has  to  write  it  in  my  heart's  blood." 

"  Once  again  I  repeat,"  she  cried,  "  you  have  no  enemy  but 
Marcus  Warland.  You  need  no  traducer.  You  have  had  none 
It  is  mockery  to  ask  an  explanation;  worse  than  mockery." 

Marcus  looked  upon  her  steadfastly  one  moment.  In  that 
moment  her  image,  as  he  had  seen  it  at  different  periods  of 


266  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

their  intercourse,  passed  rapidly  before  him,  like  the  phantasma 
of  a  dream.  The  childlike,  bewitching  fairy  of  the  fountain, 
the  incarnate  Lightning  that  gilded  the  hall  of  the  university, 
the  playful,  gentle,  fascinating  mistress  of  that  lordly  mansion, 
the  inspired  sibyl  of  the  library,  the  loving,  impassioned  com 
panion  of  the  moonlight  hour, — and  last  of  all,  the  tender, 
humble,  artless  nurse.  What  a  beautiful  picture  gallery  it 
made  !  And  there  she  stood,  so  changed,  so  near,  and  yet  ap 
pearing  so  far  off.  She  seemed  to  have  altered  the  very  style 
of  her  dress,  so  as  to  destroy  the  identity  of  the  Florence  of 
other  days.  Her  hair,  instead  of  falling  in  wild,  luxuriant 
wreaths  around  her  person,  was  gathered  up  behind,  and  fast 
ened  with  a  silver  comb,  at  the  sides  of  which  the  ringlets  drop 
ped,  as  if  ready  to  fall  from  their  own  abundance.  The  features 
had  a  marble  rigidity  of  outline,  in  lieu  of  their  former  be 
witching  softness.  The  lovely,  radiant  Creole  was  transformed 
to  a  cold  Grecian  statue.  It  was  a  Galatea  before  Pygmalion 
had  warmed  her  with  the  divine  breath  of  love. 

Marcus  felt  his  heart  swell  almost  to  bursting.  He  had 
been  under  the  spell  of  an  enchantress,  who  could  sport  at  will 
with  the  passions  of  man.  With  a  mighty  effort  he  would  break 
this  spell,  and  free  himself  from  her  power.  He  approached 
the  door,  and  placed  his  foot  upon  the  threshold. 

"  I  came,"  said  he,  "  from  the  grave  of  my  father,  who 
bade  me  bear  to  you  his  parting  blessing — a  blessing  hallowed 
by  the  solemnities  of  death  and  the  prospect  of  eternity.  I 
go  now  from  the  grave  of  my  buried  love,  bearing  with  me  a 
lesson  more  awful  than  that  his  dying  accents  taught  me. 
They  breathed  of  hope  and  immortality.  There  is  more  of 
death  around  me  now  than  I  saw  in  his  shrouded  form." 

He  turned  and  passed  hastily  through  the  hall,  when  Letty 
flying  out  through  a  side-door,  arrested  his  steps. 

"  Stop,  Master  Marcus ;  you  mustn't  go,"  cried  the  negro 
girl,  making  vehement  gestures.  "  You  don't  know  what  I 
snows.  It'll  all  be  'clared  up.  Jist  wait  a  minnit.  Master 


THE  LONG  MOSS   SPRING.  267 

Patterson  himself  is  here.  The  Lord  sent  you,  sure  enough, 
this  very  night." 

"Let  me  pass/'  cried  Marcus,  in  a  more  haughty  tone  than 
he  had  ever  addressed  to  a  negro  before.  "  I  cannot,  will  not 
be  detained." 

"  Master  Marcus  mustn't  go  till  he  hear  something,"  said 
Letty,  jumping  into  the  doorway  and  putting  her  arms  across 
as  a  barrier.  "  He  be  sorry  all  his  life-long  if  he  no  mind 
what  this  nigger  say.  Miss  Florence  been  'ceived,  that  she 
has.  She  been  most  raving  'stracted  'bout  it.  Takes  Letty 
to  find  out  where  old  Satan  hide  his  nose.  Come  along  back, 
Master  Marcus." 

The  eloquence  of  Letty  had  attracted  the  attention  of  Dela- 
val,  who  was  passing  from  the  dining-room  to  the  parlour,  in 
company  with  Patterson.  Seeing  a  gentleman  in  black,  whose 
egress  Letty  seemed  resolutely  resisting,  he  came  forward, 
wondering  what  it  could  mean.  The  eyes  of  these  two 
estranged  young  men  met  in  the  twilight  rays  of  the  shaded 
lamp  that  hung  above  the  staircase.  They  burned  upon  each 
other  with  mutual  scorn  and  ire. 

"  I  came,"  said  Marcus,  placing  his  back  against  the  door 
post,  and  folding  his  arms  across  his  breast,  "  to  demand  an 
explanation  of  the  reiterated  insults  I  have  received.  My 
letters  are  returned  unopened.  I  am  commanded  to  leave  the 
presence  of  the  sister,  lest  the  brother  should  wreak  his  ven 
geance  upon  me;  and  I  call  upon  the  Almighty  God  that 
made  me,  to  bear  witness  that  I  have  never  injured  you  or 
her,  in  thought,  word,  or  action.  Who  talks  of  injury  ?  Mine 
is  the  injury,  deep  as  life  itself.  In  friendship,  as  in  love,  I 
have  only  too  blindly  trusted,  been  too  fatally  deceived." 

Marcus  raised  his  voice  with  the  energy  of  passion.  Delaval 
was  about  to  reply,  when  Letty,  stepping  between  them,  cried 
out :  "  Master  George,  oh  !  Master  George,  please  come  into 
the  parlour,  and  you  too,  Master  Marcus,  where  Miss  Florence 
and  ^jM^r  Patterson  is,  and  I'll  'clare  it  all  up,  jist  like  moon- 


2G8  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

shine.  I  got  Master  Patterson  here  o'  purpose,  'cause  I 
white  folks  don't  believe  all  a  nigger  say.  Master  Marcus 
haint  done  nothing  wrong,  nohow.  I  never  think  he  did.  I 
find  out  who  Belzebub  be." 

"  There  may  be  something  in  this,"  said  Delaval,  who  had 
been  excessively  struck  by  the  tones  and  looks  of  Marcus,  so 
expressive  of  outraged  innocence.  "  "Warland,  will  you  come  ? 
Vindicate  yourself  from  this  aspersion,  if  you  can,  and  relieve 
me  of  a  burden  that  has  wellnigh  crushed  me  to  the  earth." 

Marcus  bowed  his  head,  and  walked  in  silent  dignity,  side 
by  side  with  Delaval  into  the  room  from  which  he  had  just 
been  banished.  Delaval  motioned  to  a  chair,  but  Marcus  re 
fused  the  offered  courtesy. 

"  I  never  again  sit  down  under  your  roof,"  said  he,  in  a 
calm  voice,  "  till  I  am  requested  to  do  it  as  a  friend,  and  by 
a  friend." 

Florence  was  seated  on  a  sofa,  in  a  state  of  passive  agony, 
between  her  uncle  and  Mr.  Patterson.  The  latter  rose  and 
greeted  Marcus  with  great  cordiality.  Letty  had  followed  the 
young  gentlemen  into  the  parlour,  with  a  face  of  unutterable 
meanings. 

"  And  now,"  said  Delaval  in  a  commanding  tone  to  the  ne 
gro,  "  tell  me  what  you  know,  and  all  you  know." 

"  Before  I  begins,"  said  Letty,  folding  her  hands  with  serene 
importance,  "  I  must  ask  Miss  Florence  to  please  be  so  kind  as 
to  'xibit  the  letter  she  drop  out  of  the  book  on  dis  here  floor." 

"  Letty,"  cried  Florence,  starting  on  her  feet,  "  have  I  not 
forbidden  you" 

"  Sister,"  said  Delaval,  "  I  entreat  you  to  let  her  have  her 
way.  Permit  the  letter  to  be  exhibited,  as  Letty  says,  that 
Mr.  Warland  may  not  assert  we  gave  him  no  opportunity  of 
vindication." 

While  Florence  with  evident  reluctance  left  the  room,  Mr. 
Alston  rose,  and  waving  his  hand  with  his  accustomed  dignity, 
exclaimed :  "  This  seems  to  me  a  very  extraordinary  proceed- 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  269 

tng,  for  a  young  lady  of  Miss  Delaval's  station  to  obey  the 
bidding  of  a  slave,  and  to  be  called  upon  to  display  her  private 
papers  in  this  promiscuous  company.  I  must  say  I  disap 
prove  of  this  transaction,  and  protest  against  the  interference 
of  this  very  officious  negro." 

"  Uncle,  I  beg  of  you  to  let  things  have  their  course.  They 
have  gone  too  far  to  recede.  I  have  invited  this  young  gen 
tleman  to  return,  and  by  the  shade  of  Cicero  he  shall  have  a 
hearing." 

Florence  entered  at  this  moment,  and  advancing  to  Patter 
son,  with  haughty  grace  gave  the  letter  into  his  hands. 

"  This  is  your  property,  sir,  I  believe,"  she  said.  "  It  was 
left  by  accident  in  the  leaves  of  a  pamphlet  which  you  had  the 
politeness  to  send  me.  Can  it  be  a  matter  of  surprise  to  you 
that  the  writer  of  that  letter  should  find  himself  here,  an  un 
welcome  and  unhonoured  guest?" 

"  Why,  this  is  a  letter  from  Mr.  Warland  I"  said  Patterson, 
looking  at  it  with  surprise.  "  I  know  not  how  it  came  in  that 
pamphlet;  but  surely  he  never  wrote  any  thing  to  me  which 
«)uld  give  offence  to  you,  or  any  human  being." 

"  Just  please  look  inside  of  the  'velope,"  said  Letty,  "  and 
ee  if  that  be  the  right  one.  Heap  of  fine  coats  put  on  over 
4e  rags  and  tatters." 

Marcus  stood  in  dignified  silence,  with  that  proud  curl  of 
.he  lip  which  gave  inexpressible  beauty  to  the  passion  of  scorn. 
He  saw  Patterson  glance  his  eye  carelessly  over  the  contents 
of  the  letter. 

"  Yes,  I  recollect  this  very  well,"  cried  the  latter ;  "  a  busi 
ness  letter,  which  can  interest  no  one  but  the  parties  conceiued. 
But  what  is  this  ?  A  postscript  ?  twice  the  length  of  the 
letter,  too !  I  never  saw  this  before.  Strange — unaccount 
able  1" 

He  read  on,  and  as  he  read,  perplexity  and  indignation  werc- 
visible  on  his  knitting  brows  and  in  his  kindling  eyes. 

"  This  is  foul,  iniquitous."  he  exclaimed.     "  Warland  never 


270  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

wrote  a  line  of  this  postscript,  never.  How  it  came  here  the 
power  of  darkness  only  knows." 

"  That  me,"  cried  Letty.  "  I  knows  how  it  came  there,  I 
'spect." 

"  Allow  me  to  see  what  they  have  done  me  the  honour  to 
attribute  to  me,"  cried  Marcus,  advancing  and  taking  the  letter 
from  the  hand  of  Patterson. 

"  Oh,  Marcus  !"  exclaimed  Florence,  springing  forward  and 
endeavouring  to  snatch  the  paper  with  her  trembling  fingers, 
"  read  not,  I  pray  you,  those  shameful  words.  You  never, 
never  will  forgive  me  for  having  believed,  for  one  moment, 
that  you  could  have  been  the  author.  Marcus — in  pity  for 
my  shame,  in  pity  for  my  penitence,  my  deep  humiliation,  re 
frain  from  the  perusal  of  those  disgraceful  lines." 

Clinging  to  his  arm  with  impassioned  and  appealing  looks,  in 
which  joy,  ecstasy,  and  self-reproach  were  struggling  for  mas 
tery,  Florence  sought  to  gain  possession  of  the  vile  forgery, 
that  had  caused  her  so  much  misery.  Delaval  had  hold  of 
his  other  hand,  squeezing  it  with  the  old  tourniquet  gripe. 

"  Warland,"  said  he  in  a  husky  voice,  "  I  wish  you  would 
take  a  pistol  and  shoot  me  through  the  head.  I  am  sure  I 
deserve  it,  and  ten  times  more,  for  being  the  dupe  of  such 
villany.  Forgive  me,  Warland,  if  you  can.  God  knows  you 
have  not  suffered  alone." 

"  I  must  know  my  alleged  crime,"  answered  Marcus,  re 
turning  the  warm  grasp  of  Delaval's  hand,  and  gently  releas 
ing  the  letter  from  the  agitated  fingers  of  Florence.  "  Let 
there  be  no  more  concealments,  no  more  mystery.  For  your 
sakes  as  well  as  mine,  oppose  me  not,  I  pray  you.  Your  vin 
dication,  I  doubt  not,  is  contained  in  this  letter." 

The  letter  it  is  unnecessary  to  transcribe,  for,  as  Patterson 
remarked,  "  the  contents  were  interesting  only  to  the  parties 
concerned ;"  but  the  postscript,  so  mysteriously  added,  in  a 
handwriting  so  exactly  resembling  that  of  Marcus  it  could  not 
be  told  from  the  original,  we  will  insert,  that  Florence  and 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  271 

Delaval  may  be  vindicated  in  the  hearts  of  others  for  their 
injustice  to  Marcus.  It  was  this  : 

"  What  I  am  now  about  to  say  is  in  perfect  confidence.  I 
know  you  will  never  betray  the  trust  of  a  friend,  especially 
when  another  is  concerned,  in  whom  I  know  you  have  a  deep 
interest.  That  you  are  a  lover  of  the  heiress  of  Wood  Lawn, 
is  no  secret  to  the  world.  That  I  have  been  so  fortunate  as 
to  be  honoured  with  her  favour,  is  a  fact  perhaps  more  notori 
ous.  My  motive  in  introducing  the  subject  to  you  is  disin 
terested,  and  I  think  you  will  appreciate  it.  I  fear  you  have 
been  rejected  for  my  sake.  As  in  these  days  young  men  mostly 
marry  for  money,  I  presume  the  worldly  advantages  of  the 
match  have  not  been  overlooked  by  you.  I  add  this,  to  say 
to  you  in  the  unreserve  of  perfect  friendship,  that  I  am  willing 
to  withdraw  all  claims  to  a  priority  in  her  regard.  Perhaps 
there  is  not  another  young  man  in  the  world  who  would  be 
affected  as  I  have  been  by  the  proof  she  has  lately  given  of 
her  devotion  to  me.  You  know,  everybody  must  know  by 
this  time,  that  she  followed  me,  disguised  as  a  mulatto,  and 
stayed  with  me  during  that  sickness  occasioned  by  the  wound 
inflicted  by  the  rascal  Pellam.  I  ought  to  feel  grateful  and 
exceedingly  flattered  by  such  an  unheard-of  act  of  affection ; 
but  I  acknowledge  that  I  am  so  fastidious,  it  has  filled  me 
with  the  deepest  disgust.  It  has  annihilated  every  particle  of 
the  love  I  once  felt.  Indeed,  so  great  is  my  present  repug 
nance,  that  even  the  prospect  of  possessing  her  splendid  for 
tune  cannot  reconcile  me  to  the  thought  of  a  union.  Now,  if 
it  is  the  fortune  you  desire  rather  than  the  girl,  all  this  will 
make  no  difference  with  you.  Should  you  be  disposed  to  re 
sume  your  addresses,  you  may  release  me  from  a  very  dis 
agreeable  scrape.  That  fiery  brother  of  hers  may  get  me  into 
difficulty.  I  do  not  wish  to  fight  him,  as  I  really  like  him. 
This  is  all  sub  rosa.  Let  me  know  your  intentions  very  soon/' 

It  would  be  difficult  to  describe  the  feelings  of  Marcus 
while  perusing  this  shameful  forgery.  That  Florence  should 


272  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

have  been  deceived  by  the  handwriting  he  could  not  wonder, 
for  it  was  the  exact  counterpart  of  his  own ;  that,  being  de 
ceived,  she  should  feel  insulted,  wounded,  and  outraged,  as 
never  woman  was  before,  he  could  not  wonder.  His  greatest 
wonder  was,  that  Delaval  had  not  shot  or  stabbed  him,  in  the 
first  storm  of  his  anger.  Crushing  the  vile  paper  in  his  hands, 
he  looked  at  Florence,  who  was  no  longer  the  cold,  rigid  statue, 
but  the  Galatea,  warmed  by  the  divine  breath  of  love.  Their 
hearts  rushed  to  each  other  in  that  lightning  glance,  and  their 
hands,  involuntarily  extended,  sealed  by  their  pressure  the  re 
conciliation  that  glance  expressed.  The  words  that  came  to 
their  lips  were  too  sacred  to  be  uttered  in  the  presence  of 
others.  They  did  not,  could  not  speak.  Neither  did  Delaval, 
who  again  grasped  the  hand  of  Marcus,  and,  throwing  his  arm 
over  his  shoulder,  drew  him  closely  to  his  side. 

In  the  burst  of  emotion  that  followed  the  perusal  of  the 
letter,  Letty's  agency  and  promised  explanation  were  mo 
mentarily  overlooked.  She  waited  impatiently  for  the  subsid 
ing  of  their  full  and  passionate  feelings,  then  twirling  her 
fingers,  and  coughing  elaborately,  she  recalled  their  attention 
to  herself. 

"  Do  you  really  know,  my  clever  darkie,"  asked  Patterson, 
"  who  wrote  that  abominable  thing  ?  If  you  can  enlighten 
us  on  this  subject,  you  shall  have  more  money  in  your  purse 
than  you  can  spend  between  now  and  Christmas.  Speak  and 
tell  us  all  about  it." 

"  Well,  master,  you  must  let  me  have  my  own  way,"  an 
swered  Letty,  speaking  with  consequential  deliberation,  "  and 
I'll  tell  you  what  I  knows,  and  clarify  the  whole  subject.  I 
seen  a  long  time  how  every  thing  going  wrong.  Ever  since  Miss 
Florence  drop  that  are  letter  and  pick  it  up,  she  no  had  no  peace, 
no  satisfaction  of  her  life.  She  told  me  never  mention  Master 
Marcus'  name,  long  as  I  live,  and  I  knowed  that  wa'n't  nateral. 
So  I  thinks  and  thinks,  and  does  nothing  but  think,  how  to 
bring  matters  right,  when  I  heern  of  the  camp-meeting,  and 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  273 

sot  off.  Then  I  made  bold  to  go  to  Master  Patterson's.  I  got 
'quainted  with  Creasy,  one  of  his  house-women,  at  the  camp 
ground.  She  got  religion  there,  and  she  so  happy ;  she  love 
everybody  and  every  thing,  and  me  too.  She  invited  me  go 
home  with  her,  and  that  what  jist  what  I  wanted.  I  made  my 
self  agreeable  o'  purpose.  Well,  when  I  gets  to  Master  Patter 
son's,  and  I  feels  sorter  at  home,  and  talks  kinder  familiar  like, 
I  asked  who  visited  her  master,  and  if  she  'membered  who  was 
there  when  he  sent  a  bundle  of  papers  to  my  young  mistress. 
Says  Creasy,  says  she,  'Nobody  here  that  time,  'less  it  was  Mas 
ter  Pellam.  Yes,  Master  Pellam  was  here,  one,  two,  three  day 
then.' " 

"  Pellam  !"  repeated  her  auditors,  looking  at  each  other. 
Florence  turned  a  remorseful  look  toward  her  uncle.  She 
had  been  suspecting — she  could  not  help  it — his  immaculate 
irreproachability. 

11  Another  wound  in  the  back  !"  said  Marcus,  involuntarily, 
"  another  coward  thrust !" 

"  Well,  as  soon  as  she  tell  me  this,"  resumed  Letty,  ani 
mated  by  the  impression  she  had  made,  "  I  questions  and  ques 
tions  her,  all  in  a  roundabout  way,  just  like  a  Christian  for 
all,  and  this  is  what  I  finds  out.  One  morning,  when  Master 
Patterson  gone  to  the  plantation,  she  see  Master  Pellam  in 
the  next  room.  Upper  part  of  the  door  all  of  glass,  so  she  see 
him  good  as  could  be.  He  never  'spected  Creasy  close  by.  She 
mighty  quiet  body,  you  know ;  keep  still  as  a  mouse,  think  a 
heap  tho'.  Well,  she  'member  seeing  him  take  up  a  letter  off 
the  secrerary,  pull  it  out  of  the  'velope,  and  sorter  ponder  over 
it.  Then  set  down  and  write  away  on  the  same  paper  a  long 
time.  She  'member  too  how  he  keep  looking  over  one  shoul 
der  and  then  t'other,  as  tho'  somebody  right  there.  S'pose 
he  thought  ole  Satan  'hind  him.  So  he  be,  sure  enough.  Then 
he  put  it  in  the  kiver,  and  stick  it  in  a  little  book,  and  clap 
some  newspapers  on  top  on't,  and  made  up  a  sorter  of  a  bundle 
She  never  thought  of  no  harm,  Creasy  didn't,  but  she  mighty 
69 


274  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

obsarying  person,  and  got  a  powerful  strong  memory.  'Sides, 
Creasy  she  say  she  'members  seeing  Master  Pellam  giving  the 
bundle  to  her  master,  and  ask  him  to  send  it  to  Miss  Florence, 
'cause  she  like  to  read  the  news." 

"  This  is  true,"  said  Patterson.  "  I  remember  his  staying 
at  home  that  morning,  on  the  plea  of  having  letters  to  write, 
and  I  unlocked  my  secretary  for  his  use.  I  had  read  him 
Warland's  letter  the  night  before — at  least  a  portion  of  it." 

"  The  packet  came  in  your  name,"  said  Florence.  "  Had 
Pellam's  been  mentioned,  I  might  have  suspected  something 
treacherous.  Yet,  even  then,  blind  and  wilful  girl  that  I  am, 
I  fear  I  would  have  been  guilty  of  the  injustice  and  wrong  that 
through  life  I  shall  vainly  rue." 

Marcus  bent  down,  and  said  something  to  her  in  a  low  voice, 
that  brought  a  rich  glow  to  her  cheeks  and  a  smile  to  her  lips, 
but  no  one  else  heard  the  words  he  uttered. 

"  I  told  the  servant  that  it  was  sent  by  Pellam,  but  I  sup 
pose  he  forgot  or  neglected  the  message,"  said  Patterson.  "  I 
was  not  aware  that  he  possessed  this  wonderful  talent  of  imita 
tion.  But  what  motive  could  have  prompted  an  act  of  such 
cold-blooded  malice  ?  Have  you  ever  injured  or  thwarted  him, 
Warland  ?" 

"  I  have  been  so  unfortunate  as  to  cross  his  path,"  answered 
Marcus,  looking  unconsciously  toward  Florence,  "and  I  can 
not  wonder  that  he  does  not  look  upon  me  as  a  friend.  He 
has  sought  to  injure  me  more  than  once,  and  the  weapons  have 
been  turned  against  his  own  breast.  One  never  forgives  the 
man  whom  they  have  wronged.  This  is  the  secret  of  Pellam's 
deadly  malice.  He  has  more  mind  than  I  have  given  him 
credit  for,  and,  like  yourself,  I  was  ignorant  of  his  peculiar 
talent  for  forgery." 

"  I  was  aware  that  he  excelled  in  penmanship,"  said  Mr. 
Alston,  who  had  been  watching  for  a  favourable  opening  for  a 
speech.  "  He  was  distinguished  for  this  when  a  boy,  and 
amused  mmself  by  imitating  the  handwriting  of  others.  Hac] 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  275 

my  nephew  and  niece  confided  to  me  the  very  unpleasant  cir 
cumstances  which  have  come  to  my  knowledge  this  evening,  I 
think  I  could  have  explained  them  in  a  satisfactory  manner. 
I  regret  that  I  ever  encouraged  the  visits  of  this  exceedingly 
unworthy  young  gentleman.  I  considered  him  quite  irreproach 
able,  but  the  wisest  may  err  in  their  judgment  of  men.  I 
regret  too  that  I  allowed  him  to  prejudice  me  against  a  very 
estimable  young  man,  Mr.  Warland,"  added  he,  walking  ma 
jestically  forward,  and  extending  his  aristocratic  hand  with  an 
air  of  dignified  self-approbation,  "  I  make  you  welcome  at  this 
time  and  hereafter  to  Wood  Lawn,  and  I  trust  all  unpleasant 
remembrances  will  be  buried  in  oblivion." 

"But,  Letty,"  cried  Florence,  while  Marcus  was  receiving 
with  due  respect  the  ostentatious  but  sincere  amende  honor 
able  of  her  stately  uncle,  "  I  fear  you  have  betrayed  my  trust. 
How  could  Pellam  have  discovered  the  secret  of  my  disguise?" 

"  I  knows  that  too,  Miss  Florence,"  replied  the  all-divining 
Letty,  "and  I'll  tell  you  all  'bout  it.  When  we  were  in  that 
strange  place  where  Master  Marcus  lay  sick,  you  'member  one 
night  how  you  took  off  your  fixings  just  to  let  his  father  see 
how  pretty  you  be.  Well,  that  night  arter  you  come  back,  in 
your  room  you  sat  down  near  the  window,  and  I  looked  out 
t'other  one.  Says  you,  '  I  hate  to  put  this  ugly  stuff  on  my  face 
acy  more,  but  I  must.  That  dear,  good  man,  how  he  seemed  to 
love  me,  and  how  I  love  him  too !  Here,  Letty,  mulattofy 
me  again.'  Then  I  fixes  you  up  just  as  you  was  afore,  and 
you  went  out,  and  you  says, '  I  wonder  if  he  will  know  me  now.' 
Then  I  noticed  that  the  curtain  was  a  leetle  one  side,  and 
I  looked  out  a  sudden  and  sees  a  man  looking  right  into  the 
window,  and  the  moment  I  sot  eyes  on  him,  I  knew  it  was 
Master  Pellam,  I  did.  I  never  let  on  a  word  'bout  it,  'cause 
I  know  'twould  scare  Miss  Florence.  Soon  as  he  see  me,  ho 
dart  off  like  ole  snake,  nobody  know  where.  I  scared  almost 
to  death  for  fear  he  tell  on  Miss  Florence.  But  he  go  off3 
say  nothing,  do  nothing.  I  thought  he  all  this  time  ia  Texaa. 


276  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

I  wish  he  where  he  ought  to  be,  and  all  his  kin  folk,  that 
I  do." 

"  Wherever  he  may  be,"  exclaimed  Marcus,  "  retribution 
shall  follow  him." 

"Amen !"  uttered  Delaval. 

"  Oh !  he  is  not  worthy  of  your  resentment/'  cried  Flo 
rence.  "  Surely,  Marcus,  surely,  brother,  you  would  not  con 
descend  to  wreak  your  vengeance  on  one  so  far  beneath  your 
contempt.  The  man  who  could  inflict  the  dastard  stroke 
from  which  you  have  so  lately  recovered,  Marcus,  should  be 
left  to  the" 

"  Hangman's  hands,"  interrupted  Delaval.  "  She  is  right ; 
she  always  is — that  is,  sometimes." 

"  I  saw  a  gentleman  a  few  days  since,"  remarked  Mr.  Alston, 
"  who  met  young  Pellam  on  the  confines  of  Texas.  From  his 
account,  I  should  think  my  niece  was  correct  when  she  ob 
served  that  he  was  unworthy  the  resentment  of  an  honourable 
man.  He  was  completely  inebriated,  and  is  said  to  be  habit 
ually  subject  to  fits  of  intoxication.  I  would  advise  every 
self-respecting  young  gentleman  to  leave  him  to  the  degrada 
tion  he  has  brought  upon  himself." 

"  Yes,"  said  Florence,  "  uncle  is  wise  and  just  in  his  coun 
sels.  Let  us  leave  him  to  his  own  evil  heart  and  baffled  pas 
sions.  Let  us  forget  his  very  name.  But  how  shall  we  re 
ward  our  second,  or,  rather,  third  Daniel — our  modern  Portia, 
who  has  unravelled  this  web  of  deceit,  and  shown  a  faith  in 
the  honour  of  our  friend  that  shames  our  distrust  and  injustice  ? 
Letty,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  You  saved  my  life  when  a 
child.  You  have  restored  to  me  a  far  richer  boon  than  life. 
Tell  me  how  I  can  prove  my  gratitude." 

"By  just  saying  nothing  at  all,  Miss  Florence,"  said  the 
modern  Portia.  "  I  loves  you  a  heap  better  than  I  does  my 
self,  and  I  couldn't  be  happy,  nohow,  when  I  see  you  the  ob 
ject  of  secret  mellacly.  Every  night  when  you  think  Letty 
fast  asleep,  she  watch  you  all  shining  in  the  moonlight, 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  277 

like  a  suffocating  angel  as  you  was,  and  she  feel  a'inost 
willing  to  die,  if  young  mistress  only  smile  as  she  used  to  long 
time  ago." 

Florence  laid  her  beautiful  hand  on  Letty's  jetty  fingers, 
tears  trembled  in  her  brilliant  eyes,  her  bosom  heaved  beneath 
its  veiling  lace. 

"  Your  own  heart  will  reward  you,  Letty,"  said  she,  "  and 
mine  will  bless  you." 

"  Letty,  you  are  a  noble  girl,"  cried  Delaval,  with  enthu 
siasm.  "  You  deserve  to  be  canonized.  I  will  have  a  statue 
erected  to  you,  and  you  shall  be  worshipped  as  the  presiding 
genius  of  distressed  lovers,  through  all  coming  time." 

"  You  make  fun  of  Letty,  Master  George,  but  no  matter, 
It  does  me  a  power  of  good  to  see  you  like  yourself  again.  I 
don't  want  nothing  to  do  with  cannons,  though ;  I've  no  use 
for  them." 

"You  are  a  kind,  excellent,  and  noble-hearted  creature," 
said  Marcus,  grasping  her  hand  with  cordial  gratitude.  "As 
I  am  the  most  of  all  obliged,  I  ought  the  most  abundantly  to 
reward." 

"  This  nigger  nothing  but  a  fool,  for  all  she  try  to  make 
out  herself  be  so  smart,"  cried  Letty,  with  an  immense  smile, 
"but  I'll  tell  you  what  I  do  want,  Master  Marcus,  if  you 
please ;  I  want  to  see  you  and  Miss  Florence  make  up ;  that 
what  I  want." 

"  Bravo !"  exclaimed  Delaval,  laughing,  and  clapping  his 
hands.  "  Bravo,  Letty.  Verily  thou  shalt  have  thy  reward. 
Come,  sister,  let  us  all  have  the  felicity  of  seeing  you  make  up 
with  Warland,  as  Letty  means,  that  is,  in  the  good  old- 
fashioned  kiss-and-be-f  ricnds  sort  of  way." 

Florence,  over  whose  face  ten  thousand  blushing  shadows 
were  rolling,  escaped  from  the  room.  Marcus,  who  knew  by 
intuition  that  she  had  gone  to  the  library,  soon  followed. 
There  he  indeed  found  her,  in  her  favourite  window-seat,  partly 
shaded  by  the  well-remembered  crimson  curtain.  She  wad 


278  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

weeping,  but  her  tears  were  not  the  night-dew  of  sorrow;  they 
were  the  drops  of  the  morning,  that  turn  to  diamonds  in  the  sun. 

"  Oh,  how  much  have  I  to  make  up  to  you/'  she  cried,  as  she 
shed  those  blissful  tears  on  the  bosom  she  had  thought  for  ever 
estranged.  "  Why  did  I  not  believe  from  the  first  that  it  was 
a  vile  forgery  ?  Ah  !  it  was  a  self-condemning  conscience  that 
made  me  a  coward  and  a  dupe.  I  feel  now,  Marcus,  that  I 
deserved  to  fall  in  your  estimation,  for  allowing  my  love  to 
triumph  over  the  suggestions  of  prudence  and  the  counsels  of 
resisting  friends.  Mrs.  Lewis,  to  whom  I  confided  my  plans, 
besought,  with  earnest  tears,  to  turn  me  from  my  wild  purpose, 
but  in  vain.  My  brother  was  absent.  I  heard  you  were  dying. 
The  omnipotence  of  love  removed  every  obstacle.  But,  oh  ! 
I  have  been  very  rash,  and,  I  fear  now,  very  unwomanly." 

"  And  can  you  think  me  such  a  cold,  selfish  ingrate  ?"  ex 
claimed  Marcus.  "  Yes,  you  have  been  rash  ;  for  what  is  self- 
forgetfulness,  self-immolation,  but  rashness  ?  You  have  been 
unwomanly,  only  to  be  angelic.  Florence,  I  have  admired 
your  beauty,  grace,  and  talents  more  than  words  of  mine  have 
ever  told,  for  my  esteem  has  always  checked  my  admiration. 
I  have  worshipped  you  as  L' eclair,  adored  you  as  Florence,  but 
I  love  you  most  of  all  as  the  gentle  Rosa.  Oh !  be  ever  the 
Rosa  of  my  heart's  home.  Come  to  me  with  her  downy  touch 
and  snowflake  step,  and  even  the  same  twilight  hue,  if  you 
will,  and  if  the  world  condemn  you  for  a  love  so  far  transcend 
ing  the  merits  that  inspired  it,  let  my  lips  breathe  the  verdict 
for  your  crime,  and  imprisonment  in  my  arms  be  the  only 
penalty  which  you  are  doomed  to  suffer." 

"  I  see  you  have  made  up,"  said  Delaval,  when,  some  time 
after,  he  entered  the  library,  for  pen,  ink,  and  paper ;  his  fine 
black  eyes  bright  with  all  their  wonted  fire.  "  But  you  have 
not  allowed  poor  Letty  the  only  boon  she  asked.  Any  mes 
sage  to  Miss  Katy,  Warland  ?"  added  he,  as  he  was  leaving 
the  room. 

"  Don't  go,  brother,"  cried  Florence ;  "  there  is  the  table 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  279 

where  you  always  write,  and  here  are  eyes  that  love  to  look 
upon  you.  George,  we  ought  to  be  called,  hereafter,  the 
Children  of  the  Mist." 

"  I  feel  very  much  like  a  son  of  the  morning  now,"  said 
Delaval,  seating  himself  before  the  writing  materials.  "  That 
was  an  unhappy  allusion,  however.  You  know  who  was  called 
the  son  of  the  morning,  and  how  low  he  fell.  Warland,  my 
dear  fellow,  my  glorious  fellow,"  he  exclaimed,  springing  up, 
and  seizing  his  hands  in  both  his,  "  if  you  knew  how  happy  I 
am,  you  would  not  look  so  intolerably  wretched  yourself. 
Seriously,  I  feel  such  a  specific  lightness  of  spirit,  I  fear  I 
shall  go  up  in  a  natural  balloon." 

"  One  question,"  said  Florence,  turning  to  Marcus,  "  I  have 
forgotten  to  ask.  How  did  you  learn  the  identity  of  the  hum 
ble  Rosa  and  the  proud  Florence  ?" 

A  shadow  came  over  the  sunny  brow  of  Marcus.  The  solemn 
scene  of  his  father's  death-bed  rose  up  before  him,  and  chas 
tened  the  rapture  of  reconciliation. 

"  My  father,  Florence,"  he  answered,  "  with  his  dying  lips 
revealed  the  secret,  that  I  might  be  convinced  of  the  depth 
and  tenderness  of  the  heart  whose  truth  and  constancy  I  was 
forced  to  doubt.  He  justified  you  with  his  last,  fading  breath, 
while  he  told  me  of  the  boundless  debt  my  life's  devotion  never 
can  repay." 

That  was  a  glorious  evening  at  Wood  Lawn,  as  Delaval  said 
more  than  once.  The  gay  laugh  of  Florence  was  heard  in  sil 
very  music  once  more  in  her  dwelling.  Her  magnificent  voice 
again  accompanied  the  keys  of  her  neglected  instrument.  The 
flowers  that  had  seemed  scentless  and  dim  blushed  into  new 
bloom  and  sweetness.  Every  thing  had  the  brightness  and 
beauty  of  a  new  creation,  for  paradise  was  regained  in  the  heart. 
If  Letty  was  a  belle  before,  there  was  no  limit  to  her  belle- 
ship  from  this  period.  The  gratitude  of  those  whom  her  shrewd 
and  active  spirit  had  restored  to  happiness  did  not  evaporate 
in  a  few  words  of  promise.  They  vied  with  each  other  in  tho 


MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

number  and  value  of  their  gifts,  till  Letty  said  her  trunk  was 
"nothing -but  a  show-box,  sure  enough."  Her  fame  went 
abroad,  and  negroes  came  from  distant  plantations,  when  their 
holidays  allowed  them,  to  see  the  wisdom  of  Letty,  and  they 
went  away,  thinking,  as  Queen  Sheba  did  of  the  splendidly  en 
dowed  son  of  David,  that  the  half  was  left  untold.  She  impro 
vised  one  or  two  more  verses  of  her  camp-meeting  song,  which 
she  sang  while  dusting  the  parlour,  and  Marcus  and  Florence 
sat  in  the  piazza,  within  reach  of  her  musical  voice. 

"  Let  alone  dis  nigger, 

What  you  want  of  Letty  ? 
Sweetheart  come  to  see  her  now— • 

Maybe  think  she  pretty. 
Cattle  in  the  corn-patch, 

Possum  with  the  gander, 
Kabbit  in  the  turnip-bed, 

What  of  dat,  I  wonder? 

Fox  he  make  a  chicken-pie,  'vite  a  possum  to  it, 
Letty  eat  it  'fore  he  come — dat  a  way  to  do  it." 

A  merry  burst  of  laughter  from  the  window  made  Letty 
turn  her  head  quickly,  and  suspend  her  dusting,  as  well  as  her 
music.  Delaval  threw  a  handful  of  silver  on  the  carpet. 

"  Sing  another  verse,"  said  he,  "and  let  it  be  about  the  quar 
rel  and  the  making  up." 

Letty  began  immediately,  picking  up  the  silver,  and 
jingling  it  like  castanets,  and  making  faces  that  it  would  be  no 
sin  to  worship,  for  there  was  nothing  like  them  on  the  earth 
or  in  the  waters  under  the  earth  : 

"  Pretty  master  come  along, 
Dead  in  love  as  could  be ; 
Mistress  say,  '  You  get  along — 

I  know  who  a  you  be.' 
Pretty  master  mad  as  fire, 

Little  mistress  huffy, 
Letty  catch  him  by  the  arm, 

Turn  him  in  a  jiffy. 

When  he  make  the  white  plum-cake,  let  'em  'vite  a  possum, 
Maybe  he  no  appetite — dat  a.  way  to  dose  'em." 

This  is  the  last  specimen  we  shall  give  of  the  inspirations  of 
our  African  Corinna.  The  sudden  and  sunflower  expansion  of 
oer  genius,  under  the  beams  of  favouring  circumstances,  was 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  281 

truly  surprising,  for,  though  she  saw  no  necessity  of  linking 
two  ideas  together  to  make  reason,  she  certainly  had  a  per 
ception  of  measure  and  rhyme. 

And  now  the  sky  is  all  blue,  and  the  current  smooth,  and 
the  gales  propitious,  we  feel  as  if  we  ought  to  lay  down  our  pen. 
Indeed,  the  sunshine  is  too  bright — it  is  dazzling.  Where  is 
the  artist  who  ever  attempted  to  paint  a  noonday  sun  ? 

Kind  and  gentle  reader,  (for  to  us  you  have  always  been 
kind  and  gentle,  whatever  name  you  bear,)  we  trust  you  have 
followed  with  interest  the  history  of  our  friends,  especially 
that  humbler  class,  whose  characters  form  the  under-current 
of  the  work.  But,  as  we  said  at  the  beginning,  we  have  a 
higher  motive  than  merely  to  excite  interest  for  the  passing 
hour.  It  is  to  cast  our  mite  into  the  great  treasury  of  truth ; 
and  if  that  mite  be  no  larger  than  the  smallest  particle  which 
the  coral  insect  leaves  in  forming  the  growing  reef,  it  may 
assist  in  erecting  a  barrier  against  the  ocean-waves  of  ruin 
that  threaten  to  lay  waste  our  land.  This  may  end  in  pre 
sumption,  but  it  began  in  humility.  The  greatness  of  the 
design  should  never  be  judged  by  the  means  which  are  some 
times  used  to  assist  in  its  accomplishment.  In  a  frail  bark  of 
osiers  was  the  future  lawgiver  of  Israel  committed  to  the  wa 
ters  of  the  Nile,  with  naught  but  the  arm  of  God  to  defend 
him  from  the  deadly  warriors  of  the  deep.  Like  the  sister 
who  stood  waiting  in  the  shadow  of  the  palm-trees,  watching 
the  destiny  of  the  wave-cradled  child,  till  the  daughter  of 
Pharaoh  came  near  and  took  him  in  her  adopting  arms,  we 
wait  the  royal  coming  of  public  favour,  the  sweeping  of  its 
purple  robes,  the  glittering  of  its  golden  crown. 

After  the  usual  time  consecrated  to  the  memory  of  the  dead, 
there  was  a  splendid  wedding  at  Hickory  Hill,  not  destined  to 
so  disastrous  a  termination  as  the  ill-starred  Cora's.  It  is  an 
astonishing  fact,  that  Aunt  Milly  survived  the  elation  and  ex 
citement  of  the  occasion.  To  see  Miss  Katy,  the  child  of  her 


MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

hopes  ana  prayers,  the  mistress  of  such  a  noble  establishment, 
to  say  nothing  of  her  princely  spirited  husband,  was  the  crown 
of  htr  earthly  ambition.  As  the  still  lovely  and  charming 
Mrs.  Bellamy  looked  on  the  sweet  young  bride,  whom  she  loved 
with  all  a  mother's  tenderness,  and  thought  of  the  night  when 
she  first  saw  her,  a  poor  and  isolated  little  child,  she  blessed 
God,  who  put  it  into  her  heart  to  love  and  cherish  her,  and 
nurture  her  into  the  bloom  and  the  beauty  of  womanhood. 

It  was  a  moment  to  be  remembered,  when  Aunt  Milly  bade 
adieu  to  Bellamy  Place,  and,  rolling  in  a  carriage  behind 
her  young  mistress,  followed  her  to  her  new  home.  She 
kept  nodding  her  head  to  the  negroes,  as  long  as  she  could 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  hickory  trees,  smiles  and  tears  contend 
ing  on  her  honest  countenance.  The  habit  of  exaggeration 
she  had  acquired  at  the  ferryman's  cabin  had  long  since  died 
in  the  plenitude  and  luxury  in  which  she  had  been  living. 
But  it  was  owing  to  the  purifying  influence  of  religion,  which 
opened  her  eyes  to  the  beauty  of  truth,  and  convinced  her  that 
even  affection,  pure  as  hers,  could  not  sanctify  the  white  little 
lies  she  formerly  thought  it  no  sin  to  utter. 

Hannibal  could  not  bid  Katy  good-by.  He  gave  her  a  part 
ing  serenade  with  his  beloved  violin,  but  hid  himself  when 
the  hour  of  separation  arrived.  Delaval  endeavoured  to  per 
suade  him  that  Letty  was  worthy  to  supplant  the  lost  Cora  in 
his  affections ;  but  the  Carthaginian  General  never  suffered  his 
constancy  to  the  memory  of  the  beautiful  mulatto  to  vary  one 
hair's-breadth.  He  felt  with  O'Connor's  Child, 

"  Oh,  what  is  any  living  love, 
To  that  which  cannot  quit  the  dead  ?" 

The  same  wedding-party  soon  after  gathered  at  Wood  Lawn, 
to  grace  the  nuptials  of  its  beautiful  mistress.  And  they  came 
also  from  the  north  and  the  south,  and  the  oast  and  the  west, 
for  the  invitations  were  sent  far  and  wide.  It  was  a  joyous 
and  magnificent  festival,  as  well  it  might  be,  for  such  a  bride- 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  283 

groom  and  such  a  bride  seldom  are  found  among  every-day 
mortals.  It  was  equivalent  to  a  double  wedding,  for  the  young 
master  and  his  fair-cheeked  bride  divided  with  the  splendid 
pair  the  hymeneal  honours. 

Good  Mrs.  Lewis  has  not  acted  a  prominent  part  in  this 
narrative,  but  she  immortalized  herself  by  the  wedding-supper 
and  all  the  accompaniments  of  the  festival.  It  has  been  said 
that  the  ladies  of  the  South  excel  in  the  adornments  of  a  bridal 
fete,  and  it  is  certain  that  they  are  unsurpassed  in  the  elegance 
of  their  floral  taste.  This  floral  taste  is  never  so  gracefully 
exercised  as  in  the  decorations  of  a  bridal  table.  That 
which  was  now  spread  in  the  ample  hall  of  Wood  Lawn,  re 
sembled  a  garden  of  snow  glittering  in  the  moonlight,  for 
flowers  in  bas-relief  on  a  surface  of  dazzling  white  decorated 
the  lofty  pyramids  of  cake,  and  sprinkled  over  this  surface  of 
spotless  white  gleamed  ten  thousand  rays  of  silver  and  gold. 
Real,  living,  blooming,  aromatic  flowers  exhaled  their  perfume 
from  rich  silver  vases,  the  whole  length  and  breadth  of  the 
table,  and  were  festooned  in  garlands  all  around  the  wall. 
Over  each  end  of  the 'table  was  suspended  a  canopy  of  flowers, 
in  honour  of  each  bridal  pair.  Nothing  could  be  more  grace 
ful  or  beautiful  than  these  novel  decorations.  They  were 
formed  of  several  graduated  hoops,  entwined  with  evergreen 
and  flowers,  and  the  cords  that  confined  them  together,  at 
regular  intervals,  were  wreathed  with  the  same  glowing  blos 
soms.  As  these  sweet,  fairy  pavilions,  softly,  gently  swaying 
in  the  night-breeze,  rose  in  floral  beauty  above  the  brides  of 
the  evening,  they  might  have  been  taken  for  two  May  Queens, 
in  their  coronation  bowers. 

Aunt  Milly  and  Letty  were  peeping  in  at  the  window,  iu 
the  midst  of  many  a  smiling  black  face. 

"  I  do  say,"  cried  Letty,  who  looked  something  like  a  bride 
herself,  so  handsome  and  tasteful  was  her  attire,  "  that  MisJ 
Florence  and  Master  Marcus  are  the  gloriousest  couple  that 
ever  was  created,  and  the  way  they  do  love  each  other — oh  • 


284  MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

you  get  along,  you  Letty,  you  can't  begin  to  speak  about  it ! 
Just  see  her  look  up  at  him  -with  them  eyes  of  hers.  Now, 
who  ever  did  see  a  pair  of  eyes  that  could  hold  a  candle  to  'em  ?" 

"  Miss  Katy's  can/'  said  Aunt  Milly,  her  family  pride  and 
affection  kindling  as  she  spoke.  "  See,  she's  a  looking  sorter 
down,  so  modest  and  tender,  and  then  she's  so  fair  and  white 
you  can  hardly  tell  which  is  which,  her  cheek  or  the  veil. 
Bless  her  little  heart,  I  can  see  it  flutter  about  now.  She 
couldn't  speak  a  cross  word  to  save  her  life.  She's  like  the 
blessed  virgins  that  kept  their  hair  trimmed  and  burning,  wait 
ing  for  the  bridegroom  to  come  along." 

"  She  mighty  pretty,  but  Miss  Florence  beat  her  all  hollow," 
persisted  Letty.  "  She  look  spunky,  that  what  I  like  to  see  j 
but  she  gentle  as  a  lamb  for  all  that." 

They  probably  continued  for  a  long  time  discussing  the 
beauties  and  merits  of  the  two  young  brides,  but  the  music  of 
the  band  that  came  rolling  out  of  the  dancing  hall  drowned 
their  voices  in  a  flood  of  sound.  The  floor  of  the  room  where 
the  dancers  repaired  was  covered  with  most  exquisite  figures, 
designed  in  chalk,  soon  to  be  effaced  by  the  light-winged  feet 
that  skimmed  over  them.  The  whole  lawn  was  illuminated 
with  lamps,  the  back-yard  blazing  with  pine-torches,  and  green 
boughs  were  hanging  in  front  of  every  negro  cabin.  Many  an 
airy  couple  was  seen  waltzing  on  the  smooth,  green  lawn,  and 
the  way  the  negroes  leaped  and  danced  about  the  back-yard 
was,  as  Letty  said,  "  a  caution."  There  can  be  no  such  wed 
dings  as  those  celebrated  on  the  noble  plantations  of  the  South, 
for  nowhere  else  do  we  see  the  bright,  jetty  setting,  that  sur 
rounds  the  fair  pearls  and  diamonds,  it  so  beautifully  contrasts. 

Mr.  Alston  made  a  characteristic  speech  on  the  occasion,  ac 
companied  by  an  extra  set  of  flourishes,  and  Delaval,  just  at 
the  close  of  the  evening,  summoned  Letty  into  the  hall,  and 
told  her  that  she  must  wind  up  with  an  epithalamium  and  a 
pas  seul.  It  is  true  he  was  obliged  to  explain  the  nature  of 
the  request,  but  she  acquitted  herself  in  her  twofold  character 


THE  LONG   MOSS   SPRING:  285 

to  the  astonishment  and  admiration  of  all,  and  disappeared  in 
a  shower  of  silver,  that  fell  from  an  invisible  cloud. 

We  thought  we  had  bidden  a  last  farewell  to  the  beautiful 
fountain  we  love  so  well.  We  did  not  know  that  Florence 
would  insist  upon  her  husband's  taking  her  to  the  scene  of  his 
early  struggles  and  his  father's  latest  rest.  But  she  did,  and 
before  he  transplanted  this  true  passion-flower  to  the  bower  he 
had  made,  he  carried  her  to  the  lone  spot  we  have  so  often 
visited.  He  took  her  into  the  cabin,  where  his  old  friend, 
the  ferryman's  wife,  still  presided,  and  who  greeted  them  with 
heartfelt  cordiality.  But  the  walls  were  no  longer  dark  and 
gloomy.  A  pure  surface  of  white  plaster  greeted  the  eye,  and 
the  furniture  and  curtains  presented  quite  a  modern  appear 
ance.  The  mistress,  too,  of  the  rejuvenated  mansion  har 
monized  in  her  neat  apparel  with  the  improved  and  beautified 
aspect  of  the  place.  The  visits  of  Marcus  to  the  home  of  his 
childhood  had  awakened  in  her  heart  the  love  of  the  beau 
tiful,  and  his  liberality  had  enabled  her  to  fit  up  the  old 
cabin,  and  convert  it  into  a  pleasant  and  comfortable  dwelling- 
place.  To  the  hand  that  had  transplanted  the  wild  rose 
to  the  grave  of  Simon,  and  that  watered  the  flower  that  blos 
somed  on  his  father's  grassy  bed,  he  could  assign  no  nig 
gard  boon. 

Marcus  led  Florence  to  the  Long  Moss  Spring,  and  seated 
her  on  the  snowy  rock  so  often  his  throne,  and  he  watched 
the  shadow  of  the  magnolia  and  the  shining  holly  playing  on 
her  brow.  They  drank  together  of  the  waters,  purer  than 
Castalian  dews,  and  looked  upon  each  other's  faces  in  the  blue 
mirror  beneath.  Then,  hand  in  hand,  they  knelt  by  the  grave 
of  Warland,  and  mingled  their  sighs  with  the  wind  that  whis 
pered  mournfully  with  the  rustling  grass.  They  bent  over  the 
spot  where  the  aged  Simon  slept,  and  plucked  some  of  the 
roses  that  blossomed  luxuriantly  there.  Mr.  Bellamy  had 
ordered  a  marble  tomb  to  the  memory  of  his  friend,  but  it  was 
not  yet  completed.  Marcus  was  glad  that  Florence  could  seo 


MARCUS  WARLAND;  OR, 

the  spot  just  as  God  had  made  it,  with  no  influence  but  tha* 
of  nature's  breathing  into  her  soul. 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  Florence,  as  he  drew  her  reluctant  steps 
from  the  fountain's  side,  "  let  us  build  a  cottage  on  this  en 
chanting  spot,  and  come  and  dwell  in  this  sweet  and  lonely 
paradise. 

"  Would  this  be  world  enough  for  thee  ?" 

"  No,  my  gentle  Rosa,"  answered  Marcus,  the  lofty  glance 
of  ambition  flashing  from  his  eyes,  and  mingling  with  the 
softer  radiance  of  love,  "  dearly  as  I  love  you,  and  though  I 
could  be  happy,  blessed  with  you,  were  Providence  to  cast  me 
on  Crusoe's  desert  isle,  I  should  not  be  true  to  my  destiny  if  I 
voluntarily  buried  in  solitude  the  talents  God  has  given  me  to 
glorify  him  in  a  more  extended  sphere.  Neither  would  my 
bright  and  high-souled  L' eclair.  She  was  formed  to  gladden 
and  beautify  the  world,  as  well  as  to  be  the  angel  of  my  Eden 
home.  But  we  will  have  a  cottage  here,  where  we  can  some 
times  come  and  bathe  our  spirits  in  the  heavenly  beauty  of 
the  scene.  This  shall  be  a  resting-place  to  refresh  us  through 
the  journey  of  life ;  and,  oh  !  Florence,  when  that  pilgrimage 
is  over,  may  we  sleep  side  by  side,  with  our  buried  father,  near 
the  margin  of  the  Long  Moss  Spring." 

Florence  turned  aside  her  head,  to  hide  the  tears  that 
gathered  in  her  eyes.  Her  heart  was  too  full  of  love  and  hap 
piness,  not  to  be  chilled  by  the  cold  thought  of  mortality. 
Marcus  put  his  arm  around  her,  and  gently  drew  her  to  the 
river's  shore,  where  the  old  ferryboat  lay,  dark  and  lazy,  like 
some  old  negro  basking  in  the  sun.  The  ferryman's  wife 
stood  gazing  at  them  from  the  door  of  the  cabin.  Marcus 
beckoned  to  her,  pointing  to  the  poles,  and  she  came  with  a 
quick  step  and  smiling  countenance. 

"  Will  you  help  me  once  again?"  he  asked,  unfastening  the 
chain,  and  lifting  Florence  lightly  into  the  boat.  "I  must 
ferry  her  across  this  river  of  many  memories." 

"  Yes,  that  I  will,  and  thank  you,  too,"  answered  the  woman, 


THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING.  287 

and  Florence  found  herself  floating  on  the  dark-flowing  Chat- 
tahoochee,  while  Marcus  dashed  the  pole  into  the  current  with 
all  the  wild  grace  of  boyhood,  combined  with  manhood's 
strength. 

The  sun  went  behind  a  cloud,  and  he  hung  his  hat  on  the 
lantern-post,  so  that  the  river  breeze  rustled  freely  through  his 
magnificent  locks.  Florence  gazed  on  his  splendid  figure,  in 
the  attitude  of  unconscious  grace  it  had  assumed,  with  eyes  of 
adoration ;  then,  moved  by  a  sudden  impulse,  she  stooped  over 
the  edge  of  the  boat,  and  dipping  the  water  in  her  hand, 
sprinkled  it  laughingly  over  his  waving  hair. 

"  Ah,  fairy  of  the  fountain,"  he  exclaimed,  "  that  was  a 
never-to-be-forgotten  baptism ;  and  this  I  receive  as  a  new  con 
secration.  Beautiful,  life-giving  element,  I  welcome  the  puri 
fying  drops.  Florence,  the  sweetest,  dearest  associations  of 
my  life  cluster  around  the  welling  spring.  Thanks  be  to  God 
for  the  fountain's  gush  and  the  river's  flow." 

Sweet  in  after-life  was  the  remembrance  of  this  scene.  Mar 
cus  has  not  yet  reached  the  zenith  of  his  fame,  but  like  the 
ascending  sun,  it  shineth  brighter  and  brighter  unto  the  per 
fect  day.  His  voice  will  soon  be  heard  in  our  country's  capi- 
tol,  with  an  eloquence  powerful  enough  to  waken  its  deepest 
echoes.  His  motto  is  Excelsior.  His  goal  the  highest  sum 
mit  of  human  ambition ;  that  is,  the  glory  of  God,  and  the 
good  of  man. 

And  whether  as  the  glowing  lightning  playing  lambently 
on  the  horizon  of  his  existence,  or  as  the  waxing  moon  shining 
with  increasing  lustre  on  the  rising  tide  of  his  affections,  or  as 
the  gentle  rose  shedding  sweetness  and  beauty  on  his  heart, 
Florence  is  still  the  angel  of  his  Eden  home. 

THE   END. 


STEREOTYPED  BY  L.  JOHNSON  AND  CO. 
PHILADELPHIA. 


• 


